


a moment in fractured time

by agcrazy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (past) Liam Payne/Harry Styles, (past)Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:50:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agcrazy/pseuds/agcrazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yeah,” Harry breathes, and grabs hold of Zayn’s hand, and Zayn notices just how large and <i>engulfing</i> Harry’s hand is. The larger one squeezes the smaller one <i>once, twice</i> and Zayn wonders if they are a silent thanks of some sort. He sends a reassuring <i>third<i> of his own back that makes Harry’s eyes sparkle just that bit more.</i></i><br/><i><br/></i><br/><i><br/><i>or the one where Zayn is an artist and Harry is his muse and Zayn brings him home only to find out Harry might have a not-so-slight problem.</i></i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	a moment in fractured time

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write an artist!Zayn for quite some time, so this was borne from that wish. It took me ages, like I have a feeling I actually screwed up my term tests because I was too invested in this.
> 
> So! I hope you guys like it (:

Zayn tears off yet another page from his sketch book and crumples it. It lands on the floor only to lie amongst the countless other trashed pieces that started littering his room late Monday evening.

 

It is Thursday morning now.

 

The last time he slept was in the afternoon of that Monday and Zayn can now feel the absolute horrendous toll of caffeine-induced wakefulness hit him like a ton of bricks. His body is so very fatigued, his limbs are leaden and it actually hurts to even move  _but_  his mind is racing. His mind is restless in the way only an artist’s can be when he is itching to paint, draw, sketch (at the very least,  _please_ ) but just can’t seem to get anything out. From planes and angles to circles and curves, from light and people walking on the street below to shadows and buildings scraping the night sky, Zayn has tried  _everything_  but  _nothing_  has traveled from his heart to hand to pencil to paper.

 

The raven-haired boy has never been one to vocalize his frustrations or sorrow or any sort of emotions really (sometimes he rubs at the various tattoos splattered all over his body and even that is rare) but he has also never quite found himself in a rut such as this - he has never had to drag the art out of himself, kicking and screaming - and right now, he honestly doesn’t know what to do.

 

So Zayn thinks it is perfectly alright to be uncharacteristic for once and lets out the pent up (and heartfelt) groan that had been building inside of him for the past couple of hours.

 

He rakes a hand through his hair which is already messy from having been carded through one too many times and his hazel eyes stare unseeingly at the blank page before him for the better part of three minutes before he decides to just  _fucking screw it_  and take a shower instead. It may or may not have been three days since he last bathed as well.

 

Zayn doesn’t check what the setting for the temperature of the water is and yelps a little when the scalding water hits his skin. It helps a little though – helps to somewhat relax the tense muscles around his neck, shoulders, arms ( _everywhere_  as it turns out) and empty his head of the meaningless stray thoughts clogging it up. But it is not enough. Not enough to remove the uneasiness that has settled beneath his skin. With hair still slightly damp, and body smelling fresh, Zayn heads out into town after coming out of the shower and throwing on the first pair of clean clothes his hands manage to find.

 

It is a normal day out – drizzling in that ever so slight and constant way that Londoners have long learned to simply ignore it.

 

Zayn doesn’t look at the time or at the names of streets he passes through as he wanders.  _Wandering_ would lose its meaning then, he reasons. He lets his feet create a meandering map hitherto uncharted through the teeming town and he doesn’t care that the sun comes peeking out of the clouds at one point, already high up in the sky. It’s well into the afternoon and he really should feed his wilting stomach but his eating habits are about as regular as his sleeping schedule and thus, he figures his grumbling stomach can wait a few more minutes (make that an hour) so that he can walk a bit more before maybe finding a nice cheap diner to have lunch but then.

 

Zayn sees  _him_.

 

And it’s just tumultuous waves of colours, sparks and  _feelings_  from then on.

 

Zayn is across the street from him and he comes to an abrupt halt the moment his eyes catch on the boy. It’s rather weird because Zayn is rooted to the spot when all he wants is to run to him, stop and stare and _can I please touch_ ; because he is all choked up and soundless when all he wants is to shout, plead and  _just don’t move_ ; because he feels laughter bubbling out of his mouth at the sheer absurdity of his reaction, his desires when all he wants is to cry that he doesn’t know that boy and  _should I introduce myself_.

 

He doesn’t know what it is about the boy across the street that has him so enthralled – is it the tall, lanky body (with the long torso and even longer legs) or is it the unkempt, windswept brown curls on his head, is it the way he is standing around, looking bored when there is a perfectly serviceable and empty bench beside him or is it the way he has a hand down the back of his pants, scratching his bum seemingly without a care in the world? Who knows what it really is, and Zayn doesn’t give a damn. Especially not when, as if realizing that someone is staring at him, as if feeling the pinpricks of blatant admiration, the boy looks up directly at Zayn and  _oh, goddamn wow._

 

A manic grin is spreading across the boy’s face (Zayn flushes at being caught red-handed but not really) and Zayn thinks he can see the traces of dimple indents on his cheeks right there and there. Even from the distance (okay, so maybe it isn’t that far - it’s only a one-way street fitting two cars by width), he can see the brightness of the boy’s eyes, how very sparkly they are, how very  _green_.

 

It is then, in a belated moment of notice, that Zayn realizes the curly-haired boy is waving at him, waving at him to  _hey, come on over_.

 

This time it isn’t a conscious decision when his feet adopt a mind of their own and start crossing the street to that pretty guy yonder.

 

And he really should have looked for incoming cars. He is knucklehead. No, really, he is. Zayn is flushed by the time he reaches his muse (yes, he has already decided that this person right here is and will be his muse regardless of whether he will ever see him again because his hands are itching and his mind is racing but all in a good way this time,  _the very best way_ ) who is laughing away (at him, he presumes) and it’s a silent laugh. The kind where his shoulders are shaking in unending mirth but no sound is escaping his pretty little mouth. And now that Zayn looks, he must have the prettiest mouth Zayn has ever seen (all pink and plump and  _oh, let’s not go down that road_ ) and his shoulders are  _wide_. Zayn is startled to see how broad the still-shaking (was his near-death really that funny?) shoulders are. He didn’t realize just now, in between the curls and the long legs and all the overwhelming emotions cascading through his own body, just how muscled this guy really is.

 

Zayn feels a flash of heat pass through him but he ignores it. He can’t think of his muse like that (not that _that_  has ever stopped him before but something about this guy before him feels dangerous and he latches onto the first excuse that pops up in his head) but his voice still comes out a little breathy when he manages a “Hi.”

 

The green-eyed lad just giggles. There is no reciprocation of the greeting or any kind of acknowledgement (unless one counts the giggle and Zayn doesn’t). Zayn stares at him (he is doing that a lot, he realises) because that giggle sounds a little high-pitched and strangely enough, it doesn’t seem incongruous with his bulky build even though it should be. And then Curly (he can’t very well keep calling him varying versions of “the boy” now, can he?) is suddenly grabbing hold of Zayn’s hand and pulling him to sit down on the bench together.

 

He doesn’t let go of Zayn’s hand and Zayn tells himself that it is only because of how cold Curly’s hand is that he keeps holding on too. Even though it’s only just their palms touching and not even fingers laced through, a lazy sort of elation settles somewhere within Zayn. He doesn’t want to think too deeply  _where_ because he shouldn’t be feeling this way at all, shouldn’t be having this stupid urge to grin like an utter fool, shouldn’t be wanting to curl his hands in more snugly and maybe glue their palms together while he’s at it because that would be so inappropriate and crazy.  _Yes, absolutely ridiculous._  But that doesn’t stop Zayn from noticing how nice and warm and  _big_  Curly’s hands are from where one is  _still_  holding his.

 

He gives in to the urge and lets his lips curve up a little. Just a little.

 

But then, “You think I’m pretty, don’t you?” Curly asks without any preamble and  _wait what?_

 

Zayn is pretty sure his eyes are bugging out and his mouth is in a little ‘o’ shape because forget the fact that despite the high pitched giggle, Curly’s voice is all husky and gravely and it sends a shot of heat straight to Zayn’s groin except that this time it curls up and stagnates right there, but did Curly really just ask him _that_? Zayn has always been cocky - self-assured in the way only someone as physically perfect as he is can be, but this guy. Now he is something else entirely.

 

Not to say Curly isn’t beautiful - because he  _is_  and what is more, is that there is this  _vibrancy_  to him that Zayn  _knows_  he himself lacks (because, fuck, as much as artists are emotional and subjective, they are also more critical and objective about themselves than anyone else) - or that he doesn’t have the right to be so arrogant to a complete stranger, but Zayn has never seen someone say such a thing with less of a seductive intent than Curly just did. All dimpled cheeks and innocent eyes, pearly whites on full display and obnoxiously pink lips stretched annoyingly wide.

 

And  _oh lord_ , Zayn is in so much trouble.

 

The green-eyed fiend (okay, so it has gone from  _muse_  to  _someone evil_  because Zayn is at a loss and he doesn’t like that and maybe that’s a little - very - unfair but there’s no one here to reprimand him for it anyway) is looking at him expectantly as though Zayn is actually supposed to answer him and  _fuck._

 

“Umm,” Zayn  _actually_ replies, and although that’s bordering on mentally incapacitated, it’s still answering.

 

Curly lets out a loud laugh and it’s really just one huge burst of a snort, complete with head thrown back, curls bouncing far too freely, which makes Zayn want to bask in it forever or take up permanent residence in it maybe. He is pretty sure he is being laughed at ( _again_ ) and yet he wants to join in too, wants to know what it is like to just let everything go, be free for that blissful moment or two and just  _laugh_. He thinks that this boy right here, he can teach him so.

 

And it is as Zayn is staring at him that he realises the boy beside him is just like him - on the verge of manhood, left alone to this big bad wolf of a world to stumble and flounder off the cliff into adulthood on his own and it fills Zayn with this overwhelming need to protect him. He doesn’t know how he knows all this about Curly or why he thinks so but he has a hunch and well,  _hunches are good_.

 

Zayn looks at their still-clasped hands ( _is it just me or is Curly holding my hand a little tighter than before?_ ) and decides that it is in both of their interests (mostly in Zayn’s but he chooses to ignore that) that they introduce themselves.

 

“I’m Zayn, and you are?”

 

Curly turns to look at him and Zayn is taken back at the mischief now dancing in those green orbs. It was only seconds ago that there had been that wide-eyed, innocent child-like quality to them but apparently not anymore and  _hell_ , if it doesn’t turn Zayn on a little (more).

 

“Would you follow me anywhere?” Curly asks instead and while Zayn might have expected him to not give his name because well,  _stranger-danger_  and all, but he didn’t expect that either and it seems like everytime Curly opens his mouth Zayn just about gawks at him forever and a day.

 

Zayn opens his mouth to say  _no, we just met and what kind of question is that_ , but all he does is close his mouth, only to open it again (like a fish, really) and just nods rather dumbly in the end. It is as if his brain has short circuited and lost all connection to every other body part.

 

It is only when Curly’s grin deepens (Zayn doesn’t know how that is even possible but it is) and his hand leaves Zayn’s (suddenly his entire body goes too bloody cold), that he jerks back into reality (and  _oh wow_ , he had  _actually_  been subconsciously filtering out every other noise except for Curly’s heavy breathing and his voice) and realises what he has actually done. It is, therefore, in a way but not really, not that much of a shock when Curly stands up and  _runs away_.

 

Zayn is left blinking.

 

It takes approximately four seconds before there is an audible click in his mind and he is tearing off after Curly.

 

Zayn supposes that he is lucky Curly is so tall with that distinguishable hair flopping all about as he zooms past and in between unsuspecting people and leaving Zayn behind in the dust, because otherwise he doubts he could have kept up with him. It hardly takes a minute or two before Zayn is wheezing and he remembers those days back in school when he used to hide out in the nurse’s office, claiming to be sick, _just_  to avoid PE periods. Maybe less hiding and more running would have come in use right now.

 

When he finally reaches him, (and Zayn almost lies down to curl up into a nice sleep,) Curly is standing there looking completely unaffected but -

 

There is this small shy smile gracing his face now and that makes Zayn straighten from where he is hunched over, resting his hands on his knees and panting to look questioningly at Curly (because,  _oops_ , he still can’t quite talk yet).

 

“I’m Harry,” and okay, even his voice now has that shy,  _hopeful_  quality, like how a kitten might mewl when wanting a scratch. Zayn wants to bash his head into the nearest wall he can find and  _how is this even my life?_  It’s not like he’s going to scold Curly -  _Harry_  - for leading him around on this merry chase and so really, that damn expression is unnecessary, unfair and just  _pure evil_ , okay.

 

In the end, Zayn only chuckles under his breath and asks, “So that was a test of some sort?”

 

Harry just shrugs and grins more freely, realising that Zayn is in fact  _not_  put off by his stunt. It is as they are simply gazing at each other, wondering what to say or do next that Zayn’s stomach lets out a loud rumble of protest for having been neglected for so long. Zayn’s expression turns sheepish and Harry breaks into that boisterous laugh that he is already halfway in love with (not that he will admit it).

 

“I guess I’ll go now then,” and no, Zayn doesn’t know why he isn’t just asking Harry out for lunch right now ( _I just am not, okay?_ ) but he does ask, “Will I see you again? Can I have your number?”

 

“I guess you’ll see me when you see me,” is all Harry says and makes this shooing motion with his hands as if to say  _go on_. Zayn doesn’t know how to reply to that, and he figures he has had far too many embarrassing moments for a day, so he simply laughs and salutes Harry with two fingers before starting to walk away.

 

And all the while, he wishes that Harry actually meant  _go on, I’ll still be here_.

 

xx

 

It is three days later that Zayn sees Harry again.

 

It starts off with him realising that he is being absolutely ridiculous, (which he usually just tries to cover up by acting cool what with wearing leather jackets and having his body littered with tattoos like a wannabe gangster) which really is most of the time in his life so he isn’t that surprised.

 

Within the first two days, the crumpled pieces of paper on his floor had been replaced by those of Harry, _uncrushed_  but scattering all over anyway. It is all pencil lines and charcoal shades for now because while some are complete, more are actually not. It seems that no matter how well Zayn has Harry’s cherubic face memorised, he just can’t seem to capture him on paper. The worst part is that if Zayn shows anyone these sketches of Harry, they would be impressed with the details Zayn has put in and the seeming perfection of them. It is because he had long ago mastered the technicalities of art and there,  _technically_ , isn’t anything wrong with the sketches, except maybe for the fact that these people have never seen the _real_  Harry and they don’t know how much  _more_  there is to him that Zayn just can’t quite draw out and _why can’t I get this right, goddamnit!_  There isn’t any emotion to the sketches, none of the impishness Zayn will always associate with Harry, none of the coyness and everyone knows that an art without soul is no art at all.

 

So Zayn finally admits to himself that this stupid thing that he is doing where he refuses to go out and find Harry is, well, stupid. Because it’s not like he’s having any headway with his art and he is getting more and more antsy if the two broken plates now dumped in his rubbish bin (they were accidents,  _honestly_ ) are anything to go by. It’s not like Harry would think him desperate (which he is but he hopes Harry won’t find him so anyway), so there really is no reason why he shouldn’t just walk out and find the curly-haired boy. Except, well, Zayn doesn’t know where to look for him and he latches on to that excuse like a vine to brick, even when it occurs to him that  _hey, maybe he will be at that bench again._

 

However, Zayn manages to push himself out of his apartment, albeit after copious amounts of swearing and extra time taken for grooming, and heads off towards the street with that particular bench. He vaguely starts to wonder that if he does meet Harry there again, then would it be their  _special spot_  like how they say it in the movies before he cuts his thought off because seriously _, when did I turn into such a sap?_  Zayn’s heart starts to beat a little faster as he turns into the street and he tells himself it’s only because he’s walking faster than usual and he really should exercise more (or start at least).

 

Hence, he doesn’t know why he finds himself feeling so  _despondent_  when he sees that Harry is actually not there (and he  _totally_  resists the urge to snap at himself an  _I told you so_  because talking to oneself is borderline mental, yes). After all, Zayn  _did_  expect to not find Harry there because the curly-haired boy must have other things to do and  _I’m not even here at the same time as That Day_. It would have been far too much like a movie cliche if Harry  _had_  been there waiting for him, all doe-eyed and wrapped up in a bow like a fucking present and Zayn has never received presents randomly in his life and why should now be any different?

 

Zayn goes home then, head hanging low like the sun in the sky, shoulders drooping and feet trudging and he literally is the picture of  _disappointed_  that it would be adorable if it isn’t just so sad.

 

Therefore, it  _is_  a surprise when the next day (the third day) rolls around and Zayn gets up early, freshens up, makes himself a proper breakfast for once (his stomach actually squawks for being treated right) and gets out of his apartment around the same time that he did That Day. It seems that the young man has taken it to heart that while he can’t look for Harry all over London because that is actually - probably - impossible, the least he can do is sit on that goddamn bench at the exact same time and hope Harry follows some kind of routine.

 

His heart starts beating faster again as he nears the street and even though he is prepared for it this time, he still blames it on the lack of exercise in his life (of course he does).

 

And then his heart stutters,  _one, two,_ stop _and start again._

 

Because sleeping on that bench, huddled with knees drawn up and head tucked in as if to stave off the cold, is Harry. Zayn starts forward and within seconds, he is running across the street because he doesn’t know why anyone would willingly sleep in the cold like that on such an uncomfortable, hard surface (he hopes Harry isn’t one of those annoying hippies who go on and on about loving the earth because he is  _not_ giving up smoking for Mother Nature) and he is gripped with the fear that something is terribly wrong with Harry or that he might catch a cold even if nothing is wrong with him yet. Zayn gazes down at the sleeping boy for a while and when he finds himself reaching out to stroke his cheek, he snatches his hand back. Instead he shakes Harry awake with a hand on his shoulder and  _okay_ , sleepy Harry should be  _banned_.

 

Harry is blinking owlishly at him, sleep still clouding his eyes as he looks up at who disturbed him and Zayn almost blurts out that he looks all puffy and soft and  _wanna cuddle?_  before he catches himself (that would certainly be awkward, more so than his usual). Harry gives him a sleepy smile when he recognises Zayn and sits up, slowly rubbing his eyes and  _god, it really shouldn’t be this cute._  And Zayn is about to open his mouth to say something, like a shy  _hi_  maybe or why is Harry sleeping here, but Harry stretches his arms and  _purrs_ like a satisfied cat (he really needs to stop with the feline analogies) and all that would be fucking fantastic if not for the fact that he notices how Harry is wearing the same clothes from three days prior. Zayn didn’t even realize he had registered what Harry was wearing then but apparently he did and now he can see how the sweater is a little dirtier than before and there are holes in his jeans ( _were those there That Day?_ ) and there is a strange sort of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. His curly hair looks matted, dry and scratchy and Zayn feels inexplicably saddened by it.

 

“Harry, what are you doing here?”

 

“Waiting for you,” Harry replies with an easy smile, as though he is not resembling a beggar on the street.

 

Zayn blushes, and “Well uh, yes, okay. But, as in, why are you sleeping here?”

 

“Oh, I always sleep here. And you really shouldn’t have woken me up, because I didn’t get any sleep last night because the police came and chased me away as usual,” Harry says with a pout but he sounds happy enough, unbothered by his predicament.

 

Zayn doesn’t understand.

 

“I don’t get it,” he mutters, mostly to himself but Harry hears him and okay,  _is it normal to be grinning when one is possibly homeless?_

 

“I live here, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Harry says, “Here being, you know,  _around_.”

 

And Zayn still doesn’t understand why Harry doesn’t look sad or embarrassed or scared or  _something other_ than this unaffected demeanour he is portraying.

 

And when Harry leans in to whisper, as though they are conspiring on a big secret, “It’s because I ran away from home you see,” that Zayn realises he must have verbalised his confusion. Harry giggles and he looks like a child, honestly.

 

“Why don’t you go back?” Zayn asks, unsure as to why he doesn’t just ask Harry why he ran away in the first place. And he rationalizes that the answer to the question he did ask may hold the answer to the one he doesn’t dare to but Harry takes him by surprise again and well,  _when has he not?_

 

“Because I don’t know how to go back.”

 

Zayn doesn’t know what the right response to that is and yes, he seems to be quite the clueless person ever but he has never encountered anyone like Harry before and being clueless about thisis _justified, okay._ Then, of all things, he finds himself blurting out, “Do you wanna come back to mine? Stay till you figure things out?” and woah,  _when did I turn into such a good Samaritan_? But what else was he supposed to say anyway, he couldn’t just leave Harry on the streets! Zayn knows better than anyone how  _weird_  life simply is sometimes. If it is easy for him to forget to pay the bills which apparently is not normal for other people at all and he then has to camp out in his best friend, Niall’s place until the electricity and water come back then why can’t Harry be homeless and why can’t Zayn be the one offering for once? Zayn doesn’t know why Harry hasn’t gotten a place for himself yet and believes that he must have good reasons, just like how Zayn becoming absorbed in his art is a perfectly legitimate reason for forgetting to pay the bills.

 

And see, it doesn’t really matter if it’s right or not, if it makes sense or not, for Harry is smiling with the force of a thousand suns at his offer and it kind of has kindled something Zayn can’t really indentify to burn slow and warm at the pit of his stomach.

 

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, and grabs hold of Zayn’s hand, and Zayn notices just how large and  _engulfing_ Harry’s hand is. The larger one squeezes the smaller one  _once, twice_  and Zayn wonders if they are a silent thanks of some sort. He sends a reassuring  _third_  of his own back that makes Harry’s eyes sparkle just that bit more.

 

xx

 

Zayn doesn’t know what the fuck he expected to happen once they got home, but it sure as hell wasn’t  _this_  - this being Harry throwing an actual tantrum worthy of competing against those of the brattiest of kids. And he doesn’t know what he  _did_  that is causing all this screaming as well.

 

Okay, so maybe Zayn told Harry that he has to bathe in a rather harsh tone but seriously that is no reason for the flailing arms and screeching. And really, it wasn’t so much  _harsh_  as it was a teasing “You stink mate, you should bathe before you start rolling around on my sofa” when Harry jumped on the sofa the moment he entered Zayn’s apartment. But Harry pouted and emitted a very knowing  _no_  to which Zayn might have gotten cross because really, it’s downright  _unfair_  to look so adorable while dirtying his hard-earned second-hand furniture and he might have  _then_  said  _I’m serious, Harry_.

 

Hence, the tantrum.

 

Zayn sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Why is this even his life? He realises that the curly-haired devil is steadily becoming red in the face like a child does when crying for too long and  _oh wait._  What does he mean ‘ _like_  a child’, Harry  _is_  a child. The frustrated boy is just about to give up when he sees an actual _tear_  rolling down Harry’s cheek and  _fuck_ , it has to be a health hazard for his heart to squeeze like that.

 

Zayn mutters a quiet “Fuck,” because tears is something he simply doesn’t  _do_  and considering that he just about runs away everytime  _anyone else_  even shows signs of tears, it’s safe to say he is absolutely inexperienced in dealing with this treacherous form of water. Like really, what is that anyway? Why can’t people just express themselves through art or poetry or just race a damn car if they are depressed? Nothing is as bad as fat drops of tears and bleary eyes and trembling mouth, and  _bloody hell_ , Zayn needs to _stop_  Harry before he decides to shave off his own hair or something equally ridiculous to make it up to him, to make him just  _smile_.

 

“Harry, Harry, okay,” Zayn stutters out as he rushes forward to hold the now-sniffling boy close. “You don’t have to bathe, yeah? I was just joking, honest,” and he cards his finders through Harry’s hair (and it  _is_  all dry and scratchy), massaging his scalp lightly, “I just thought you would like to freshen, mate. See, your hair feels all funny and thought you were uncomfortable. But it’s okay if you don’t want to, okay?”

 

The tension in Harry’s shoulders is almost gone, and he is leaning into Zayn’s soothing touch when he says in a small voice, “Does my hair really feel all funny?”

 

“Yeah, mate, I would have thought there was something living in it, like a rat, if I didn’t know any better,” Zayn teases.

 

Harry lets out a blubbery giggle and it finally eases the tightness in his chest. He smiles at Harry and Harry smiles sweetly back at him.

 

“I’ll go bathe then. Can I have bubbles?”

 

Zayn doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry because he honestly doesn’t want Harry to break out into tears again if he says that he doesn’t have bubble-bath body wash. It’s not his fault that he has never found the appeal of becoming a human prune!

 

xx

 

Zayn isn’t going to look a gift horse in its mouth and be grateful that he somehow managed to convince Harry to take a normal shower instead (he bribed him with more head massages and a bubble bath next time). The sound of shower turning on reaches him and he releases a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding in. It feels like the pressure between his eyebrows has finally alleviated and lying on sofa, he heaves a sigh of relief.

 

But well, God obviously hates him because he has only  _just_  closed his eyes when he hears scream emanating from the bathroom. It’s high-pitched and painful and so  _raw_  that it tears through him. Zayn quite literally runs to the bathroom, stumbling when he hits his toe on the corner of a stray chair. And thank fuck that his bathroom door doesn’t lock from the time he had to bust in to retrieve Niall’s drunk body from the bathtub because when he knocks now, he hears nothing but running water and straining soft cries.

 

He enters with a “Harry, I’m coming in,” and is faced with a very naked, very soaked Harry plastered to a corner with panicked, wild eyes and heaving chest. A litany of  _get it out, go away, go away_  is falling from his lips between whimpers and for a second Zayn thinks it’s him Harry is referring to. But Harry isn’t even looking at him, and  _what is he looking at_? Zayn’s brows furrow and he doesn’t understand why Harry’s gaze is fixated on -

 

_Is that a bee?_

 

“Ha-Harry, listen to me.  _Look_  at me,” Zayn pleads as he slowly inches towards him.

 

“No, no. Get it away, get it out, stop please, go away,” Harry cries.

 

Zayn realises that he is not going to get through to Harry with the damn bee inside the bathroom. He shoos it out and closes the door behind him. He turns around just in time to see Harry’s knees buckling under him and he rushes forward to grab him. It’s all he can do to bury his face into the curling wet hair and make what he hopes are soothing noises. There’s a fear within him that this time that won’t be enough, not with the way Harry’s sobs have brought  _heart-wrenching_  to a whole other level.

 

“L-Lou, I w-want…want Lou, w-where’s Lou, Lia-am?” Harry stutters in between heaved breaths and glazed eyes dripping tears.

 

“Harry,  _Harry_ , I’m Zayn, not Lia - “

 

“Where’s L- _Liam_? Why di-did you leave m-e?” Harry voice breaks and he is not even aware of Zayn anymore, “You s-said you wouldn’t le-leave  _too_. Every-Everyone leaves  _me._ ”

 

And Zayn just. Just can’t. He has rubbed his palms and Harry’s cheeks raw from the intensity with which he has been wiping his tears away.

 

“I…I won’t leave you, promise. Harry, look at me,” and Zayn holds his face such that their eyes meet, raw emotions displayed on both sets, “ _I won’t leave you_.”

 

It’s like a switch has been turned off, because Harry spontaneously stops crying (well, his breath still hitches every few seconds but that’s neither here nor there) and his eyes look droopy with sleep. He lays his head against Zayn’s collarbone and blinks heavily as the silence stretches between them. And it occurs to Zayn that the shower is still drumming out water on the other end of the tub and that his clothes have been completely soaked through. It doesn’t matter though because Harry’s going heavy on him, sliding into unconsciousness, and Zayn picks him up (and okay, like,  _when did I even become strong enough to carry a six feet person_ ) bridal style.

 

He dries the younger boy with a fluffy towel that the latter keeps trying to meld into and tucks him into his (and only) bed. He vaguely wonders if the lack of clothes will make Harry feel cold but dismisses it by adding a layer of blanket on top of the duvet slung over the already-sleeping boy.

 

And as Zayn dries himself and puts on clothes like his body is working instinctively, he feels a dreadful sort of pinching around his heart, his  _throat_  - like he can’t breathe and  _fuck_ , he’s so overwhelmed, it’s  _his_  legs that give out this time.

 

xx

 

Zayn jerks awake when he finds himself faceplanting the floor. Zayn contemplates lying there indefinitely until he remembers that it was someone kicking him that had him rolling off the bed and someone -  _oh_.

 

 _Harry_.

 

His head shoots up from the floor and he looks over at the bed where Harry is wide awake and looking at him all suspicious, duvet covering the lower half of his body. Zayn has the strongest urge to say  _excuse me, that’s my bed, stop looking at me like I’m an axe-wielding murderer_. Instead he just sits up and says, “Hi, how are you feeling?”

 

Harry stares at him for a second too long before slowly replying, “Why am I naked? Did someth - “

 

“No! I mean, uh, no, we didn’t have - you know - if that’s what you’re thinking. We just - you, uh,” Zayn stutters because, fuck if he is prepared for this, “You don’t remember?”

 

“I don’t even know you. Did I drink too much last night or something?”

 

“Okay, no, you didn - ” and  _wait, did he just say he doesn’t know me_? Zayn has the distinct feeling like he is way too in over his head. “Right, so no you didn’t drink too much last night. And you know me…Zayn? We met a few days ago?”

 

“I am positive that I do not know you or any ‘Zayn’s,” Harry replies slowly again, as if talking to a child.

 

Zayn sighs and fists his hands in his hair.

 

“Right, okay. Okay, yeah. Why don’t I give you some clothes, and I’ll tell you what happened over – what time is it? – over dinner, and you can decide what you want to do from there.”

 

“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” Harry says shortly, and Zayn tries not to let it bother him.

 

This is not what he expected when he thought he had found his muse. He has had muses before, and yeah, they were temperamental and often sorely tried on his nerves but  _this_ , this is something else entirely.

 

He hands Harry some clothes from his wardrobe that he thinks might fit his tall stature and walks out of the room without another word. He needs caffeine before he even  _starts_  to deal with this mess. He can hear Harry moving about in his room while he heats up the water and calls the Chinese take-out place down the street. Zayn figures even as he thinks about what kind of Chinese dishes Harry might like that if worse comes to worst, he will just tell Harry to fuck off and go back to the mind-numbing lack of inspiration in his life.

 

Harry comes out of his room wearing clothes that evidently are short and tight on him a few seconds before the bell rings, and Zayn silently thanks whichever deity is listening for not making him deal with the awkwardness that was already creeping in the moment both boys were face-to-face. He hands the delivery-boy the money and brings all the take-out into the kitchen. He is struggling to hold all of them because, well, he might have gone just a little overboard in his nervousness. He figured that getting a little of everything on the menu would mean Harry  _has_  to like something from there.

 

“So, umm, the food is here,” Zayn says lamely and motions for Harry, who is still staring at him wordlessly, to sit on the stools beside the kitchen counter.

 

Harry shuffles forward and they quietly work together to get all the boxes out of the plastic bags and Zayn steadfastly ignores how Harry’s brows keep rising at the endless food now spread out on the counter. Both boys dig into whatever they get their hands on first, sitting a little apart.

 

It’s a little over fifteen minutes, during which Zayn was painfully aware that the only noises being heard were of mouths chewing and the neighbour screaming at her rabbits, when Harry turns to him expectantly and says, “So…”

 

Zayn’s hands still on the chopsticks he is holding before he turns to Harry. “Right, okay,” is all he manages before he has take a gulp of his coffee and tries again, “So I met you the other day in town, and you were just standing beside this bench and so I sort of just went over there and introduced myself?” Harry frowns and Zayn winces because now he sounds like an A-class creep and that’s not even how it really went but he thinks that since Harry clearly doesn’t remember anything, then it doesn’t really matter.

 

“And uh, basically - okay this is going to sound weird because you don’t remember any of it, but you sort of asked me if I would follow you anywhere and then you ran away and I chased after you and yes, it really does sound weird but it felt like the right choice then and then when I finally caught up with you - and kudos mate, you sure can run - so when I caught up, you told me your name is Harry and then I asked if I’ll ever see you again and you were just very cryptic about it so I left. But, uh,” Zayn pauses because he doesn’t know how to explain the next part without embarrassing himself because yeah, he went back to find his muse so instead he looks down and mumbles, “I, uh, felt weird about it so two days later, I went back but you weren’t there and I thought, yeah of course he isn’t, right? But then the next day I went back and you  _were_ , you were there I mean, and  _then_. Then you told me that you live there? Like on that bench? And that you ran away from home, so I sort of offered you my place to bunk until you figure things out, and no, I don’t usually offer up my house to strangers like this.

 

“So anyway, we came back and you were sort of, okay, actually  _very_  dirty and I told you to go bathe because mate, you were getting my couch dirty and please don’t cry again, but yeah you threw a massive tantrum when I told you to go bathe and then I calmed you down and you went to take a shower anyway. But then halfway through you started crying and screaming and seriously, I think you were having some sort of panic attack. Over a bee. And you kept mentioning some Louis and a Liam, about how they left you,” and Zayn looks up to see if realization has dawned on Harry yet or not but instead he finds the boy stiffening to the point Zayn thinks his shoulders must hurt to be like that and he quickly looks back down before plowing on, “Bu-but I calmed you down again and put you to bed and here we are.”

 

Zayn finishes, all anti-climatic and tense silence following, and drags in a laboured breath. He finds himself looking up again from the box he is clutching and he tries to figure out what the carefully blank look Harry has donned on now could possibly mean. But before he can say anything (to reassure Harry maybe or to just. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he is supposed to say but he hates the pregnant pause that is engulfing both of them), Harry lets out tired sigh and speaks.

 

“I guess I owe you an apology? And also an explanation? And thanks, yeah, definitely a thanks. But the thing is, I don’t remember any of that. I just. I don’t know, but I guess this explains why I sometimes wake up in random places with blank spaces where memories should be. I am sorry…Zayn. And I wish I could say more but I just don’t know  _what_ , and - fuck - this is hard.”

 

Harry’s shoulders droop and he looks like he is trying to cave into himself, world-weary and just wanting to give up and Zayn can’t have that. He doesn’t know why but whatever is happening with Harry, he doesn’t want him to look so sad and confused.

 

“Hey, hey, listen to me,” Zayn says as he stands up and tentatively wraps his arms around Harry because he doesn’t think this-Harry will be that comfortable with the easy touching the before-Harry was, “It’s alright. Look, I know you don’t remember but my offer still stands. You can stay here till you…figure things out and I’m guessing you still don’t have a place to stay but. But Harry, I need to know if there is anyone waiting for you or like family you should get back to because I don’t want to be charged with kidnapping or anything.”

 

Harry is still stiff in his arms but he relaxes a little and softly says, “No, the-there isn’t. There isn’t anyone.”

 

“Not even this Louis or Liam?” Zayn realises he has made a mistake the moment the words are out of his mouth because Harry goes still in his arms again and he hears a sharp intake of breath from the boy.

 

“Especially not Liam or Louis,” Harry says softly and stands up, effectively making Zayn’s hands drop from around him.

 

“Do you wanna t - ” Zayn starts to ask hesitantly before Harry cuts him off with a cold -

 

“No.”

 

Zayn watches helplessly as Harry starts to clean up, taking the empty boxes to throw them in the trash can. He decides not to offer any help, considering how Harry keeps glaring at the inanimate objects like they are the sole reason for the fucked-up world he has to live in.

 

But suddenly, Harry turns to him, hands holding a box full of leftovers that he was about to put in the refrigerator, and says, “Louis is an ex-boyfriend. I was with him since for 2 years before he just up and left. Said he simply didn’t love me anymore. I was devastated, barely did anything before I met Liam. Liam, he is. Fuck. He was the best thing in my life. Hell, he was the best thing this world had ever been graced with. I was - I  _am_  so in love with him, but. But he died in a car accident last year. And it’s from then on that all these weird blanking out has been occurring.”

 

Harry turns away to put the box in fridge, and Zayn desperately wants to tell him to stop, to just. Just _be okay._  But he doesn’t know how to say that so he keeps quiet and lets Harry continue.

 

“I left my parents house when I was 16, moved in with Louis who was 19 that year, but not yet. We had already been together for a year by then. And I don’t know, I guess I just lost touch with my family. I built a new life in London, working at a bakery because I used to work at a bakery even in Holmes Chapel but that was for fun. So I worked at a bakery, didn’t bother about college, or education for that matter and I think that’s one thing that drove my mom and step-dad away. But I still would call them once in a while. I didn’t need them, or at least that’s what I thought because I had Louis and that’s all that mattered.

 

“And then Louis just broke up with me, he kicked me out of his apartment. And yeah, I guess I never had any right to that place in the first place. I found myself in a really shitty flat in a really shitty neighbourhood and I slowly lost my job because I kept being rude to customers. I would just spend all day in the flat until Liam appeared.

 

“He was the flat-owner’s son and since I hadn’t paid my rent in three months, he came to threaten me or something. But instead he saw how I was living and ended up taking care of me. He cleaned up the flat and forced me to go out to this diner with him and he paid for my food and then brought me back, tucked me into bed and he was still there the next morning.

 

“And fuck, it had been so long since I had anyone caring for me, or any human contact at all that I just fell into him. He came every day, didn’t ask me for rent, instead he brought food over. I ended up telling him what had happened with Louis and somewhere along the I fell in love with him, and amazingly enough, he loved me too. It was - it was  _amazing_. I went back to work, and saved up money and applied to a college too. And the best part was Liam was always there with me. He told me he would never leave like Louis did.

 

“But then, the universe doesn’t want me happy I guess. He got into a car accident on November 13th last year, and ever since then I keep finding myself in the oddest places.”

 

Harry looks up then, from his hands which have been tightly clasped all this time he was talking, and Zayn gets the familiar feeling of being punched that he is starting to associate with Harry when he sees how glassy the green eyes are from unbridled tears and hurt. Zayn makes to move forward but Harry stops him with a raised hand.

 

“Don’t. Not…not yet. I just - just need to get all this out because I have a feeling I have never told anyone this, and maybe - maybe I should?”

 

“Yeah, yeah…we can like sit on the couch or something?”

 

Harry nods and shuffles to the couch, Zayn trailing behind. They sit at the two ends, by Zayn’s choice because he settles after, because he doesn’t want to make it any harder for himself than it already is to just wrap Harry up in his arms and protect him from the big bad world.

 

“Well,” Harry begins and then pauses, looking lost again, “I uh, I think the first time it happened was after the funeral? Liam’s funeral. I almost don’t remember any of it - just Liam looking so pale and it was so _wrong_  because he was almost always blushing and. And I remember standing a little apart from his family until there was this bee and it kept flying over Liam’s face and nobody was doing anything. It just  _irked_  me so bad because he shouldn’t be so helpless and someone should help him shoo the goddamn thing away but no one was.”

 

Harry’s tone has become almost feral, his expression too fierce,  _angry_. Zayn itches to reach out a calming hand but he resists.

 

“And I think I screamed then,” Harry says slowly, his fierce expression fading, “Screamed at the bee, or maybe at the people, I can’t really remember all too well. And I  _think_  I ran out? I can’t remember much after that. Or not till I woke up near this dumpster, a man was shaking me awake.”

 

He looks up at Zayn with his big green eyes which look confused and so,  _so_  young.

 

“His name is Nick, I think. Can’t remember too well, didn’t stay with him for very long. He gave me clothes and food and now that I look back, even through the hazy memories I realize, he treated me like a charity case? Like he was some big shot and he does all these terrible things, and he was using me as a way to assuage his guilt? But I don’t know, just like that about a month or so later - or maybe it was even longer because of all the holes in my memory - I found myself at a park bench. I couldn’t remember how I got there or how I found food because I distinctly remember feeling  _full_ , you know?”

 

Zayn wants to say  _no, I don’t know_ , but he doesn’t. Harry is sitting with his knees drawn up, arms wrapped around his legs and head tucked in. Zayn gets up without a word and he can see Harry startle a bit. He goes into his room and gets two quilts before coming back and draping one over Harry. Harry smiles at him a little softly and Zayn tucks that away into the box labelled ‘special’ in his mind as he settles down with his own quilt.

 

Harry has his head turned towards him as he slowly starts taking again, a haunted look on his face, “I remember being hungry after that. Like I don’t know  _how_  when I’m not conscious of anything I can find food and stuff, but I couldn’t when I was actually aware. I had gone without food for a week when I met Caroline. I was in this back alley, hoping for the club there to throw food away into the rubbish bins outside, and this woman came stumbling out. She was really drunk, or well, not that much if she remembered me the next day. But anyway she saw me and long story short, she brought me home and this time I was completely in control of my senses but I was just so hungry by then, I didn’t even care going back with a stranger.

 

“It was the same thing as with Nick. She gave me food and clothes and it was…nice. Except she treated me like a  _pet_. Things, uh…things happened and I remember going to sleep but when I woke up, it was in this street with a random benc -“

 

“That’s where I found you,” Zayn cuts in.

 

“Yeah? I guess so. But I was hanging around there for all this time, it must have been a few weeks because every time the police came to chase me away, they would mutter about me being a ‘stubborn little shit’. And maybe they kept chasing me away but I must not have been aware because, you know, yeah.”

 

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes out noncommittally. He wonders what exactly is the  _thing_  that happened with Caroline that caused Harry to have another  _episode_  and landed him here. He feels a little sad, a little sympathetic that people kept roping this boy in and shoving him out. It’s only  _a little_  because if it wasn’t for all that Harry wouldn’t be here with him now and maybe that’s selfish but Zayn thinks he will probably treat Harry better than any of them had (except for maybe Liam, because that guy sounds suspiciously like a  _saint_ ).

 

“Do you want me to sleep here, on the couch?” Harry asks suddenly, his voice small and cracked.

 

“Huh? No, no - I mean if you wanna sleep alone you can sleep on my bed and I’ll take the couch -“

 

“Can we…uh. Can we sleep together?” Harry stutters and Zayn feels his heart thud painfully in his chest. “I just - just don’t wanna sleep alone. I-it’s been so long in the cold and I -“

 

“Harry. It’s fine. More than fine. Come on, let’s get to bed.” Zayn hold a hand out and smiles. Harry smiles back tentatively and slips his hand in.

 

xx

 

Zayn doesn’t know how Harry came to so easily assimilate into his life. That night, two weeks ago, when he and Harry had gone to sleep, it had been so awkward. They had lain on their backs and stared up at the ceiling, neither knowing the protocol for the situation. It was only until Harry had fallen asleep that Zayn felt like he could  _breathe_  and had woken up at dawn to a mouthful of curly hair and his body trapped underneath octopus limbs.

 

It had just been  _easy_  from then on. It’s not like Harry demands attention, considering he often stares out the window of the bedroom for hours on end. Zayn draws him during those times, using simple colouring pencils to shade in the whites on his sketchbook, capturing Harry at all times of the day. And when Harry isn’t in his own world, he is bustling around in the kitchen, cooking up all sorts of things that Zayn can only assume is his way of showing gratitude. They had gone grocery shopping the day after that discussion because Harry had been appalled at the state of Zayn’s fridge and he smiles now, remembering how despondent Harry had looked just at the sight of an empty fridge.

 

And as much as it doesn’t go with his starving artist look, Zayn is immeasurably glad to have a steady stock of delicious smelling food at home now. In fact, he had come home a few days ago from a trip to the landlord to pay rent to Harry baking cupcakes (he didn’t even  _know_  the oven underneath the stove actually worked) and had spontaneously hugged Harry. Which had been awkward up until Harry had hugged him back thirty seconds later but that really isn’t the point.

 

Zayn can’t really remember the last time he had been this happy, and he tries to recall as he paints yet another Harry-inspired piece in his guestroom-turned-studio. It’s all green swirls and black lines with sporadic slashes of blue and grey and frankly Zayn doesn’t even know  _what_  it is but like,  _who cares_? Because Zayn is just happy he doesn’t have to  _think_  to draw anymore.

 

The sudden knock tears him out of his reverie and he frowns. By the time he ambles over to the main door, he can hear Niall spewing profanities and  _you better not be fucking dead inside there, Zayn_. Zayn grins and quickly opens the door and goes to hug his best friend only to get punched in the arm. Really hard.

 

“Ouch! You bastard, what was that for?”

 

“Do you have any idea how worried I have been?  _Huh_? What the hell, dude? Do you know the last time anyone heard from you was  _three weeks_  ago? And that’s only because your phone was spoilt and you came to tell me that and I’m assuming your phone is still spoilt because no one can get a hold of you. Your parents called  _me_  up and we both know they fucking hate me so you better have a fucking good explanation for this, mate.” Niall is seething and frankly it’s kind of scary because Zayn has never seen Niall this angry, or any variation of  _angry_  at all.

 

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says in a small voice because yeah, he’s been a major wanker and he hates Niall being angry with him. “I, uh -“

 

“Oh shut it. Come here, give me a hug,” Niall says gruffly before pulling Zayn in. They cling to each other for a while before going to sit on the couch.

 

“I sort of did something?” Zayn winces as he says that and Niall narrows his eyes.

 

“Is it illegal?”

 

“Wha - no! At least I don’t think so -” and before he can finish talking Harry shuffles out of the bedroom, wearing only track pants.

 

“Hey, Zay - oh. Um, hello,” Harry mumbles and flushes when he looks down and sees himself half-naked. “I, emm, I’m just gonna go back.” He point backwards and quickly ducks in, closing the door softly behind him.

 

“Yeahhhh, that’s the  _something_ ,” Zayn mumbles.

 

“Dude, I’ve known you since we were kids and all throughout uni, I don’t see why  _doing_  him is a big deal.”

 

“What. No. Oh my god. No. I - Harry - no, we didn’t do anything. Ugh. I kind of found him on the streets? So I brought him home? And he’s been living here for the past two weeks?” Zayn doesn’t dare meet Niall’s eyes.

 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Niall asks wryly. “Well, you better start explaining before I think you just kidnapped someone.”

 

And so Zayn tells him in the entire story and tries to ignore how Niall’s eyebrows keep rising higher and higher.

 

“Shouldn’t he go see a doctor?” Niall asks after a while, his Irish brogue stronger than usual, notifying that Niall is getting ready to scold the shit out if him. The thing about Niall is that he is really laid-back; but for some reason that doesn’t quite apply to Zayn because the blonde has believed Zayn to be a hazard to himself ever since that time they were twelve and Zayn had convinced himself that jumping down from a tree with the cat he just rescued to be a good idea.

 

“Yeah. Yeah I know, and okay don’t get worked up, I can already see you getting red - “

 

“That’s my natural disposition, you twat.”

 

“Oh right, okay no. So, umm, yeah I’m gonna bring him to the doctor but between paying rent and feeding two people now when I barely even used to feed myself before, I’m getting really short on money. I mean it’s not like I’m poor right? I still have all that money from the show last month and a few people ordered some pieces but it’s not enough, you know?”

 

“Believe it or not, I actually do know better than you considering I’m an accountant and you never learned to spend wisely,” Niall replies dryly. “So what? I mean you’re just gonna let him stay here indefinitely?”

 

“Uh…yeah? I mean come on, I can’t just kick him out, he’s been through that enough. And like, who else is going to still put up with him when he has one of his episodes. Is episodes even the correct term? Whatever. Anyway, like last week he woke up from a bad dream and started being like a kid and I spent the night trying to console him. It’s like - fuck, Niall, like if it was anyone else they would have dumped him somewhere like that Nick and Caroline had. Bloody arsewipes.”

 

Niall gives him this look, like he can’t tell whether Zayn has gone mad or something (and  _ha, wouldn’t that would be ironic_ ), before starting to smile.

 

“You like him. You actually  _like_  him, and not like being a good person or whatever but actually like him and wanna  _kiss_  him,” Niall teases and laughs when Zayn goes red.

 

“Shut up. I hope he’s not listening in or it’ll be so awkward,” Zayn mumbles, ducking his head.

 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s hilarious actually.” Niall grins. “So what you gonna do about the hospital thing then?”

 

“Yeah, see. I’m thinking of asking my paren - “

 

“Woah,” Niall breathes, eyes widening, “Seriously? Like the parents who you only started talking to two years after they had kicked you out for pursuing art and only because they begged and called for those two years to forgive them, those parents? Parents from whom you have not asked for a single thing  _ever since_ they kicked you out because your dad insulted you about never going to be able to earn at all, those parents?”

 

“Yeah, shit. But I mean, it’s  _Harry_  you know? I don’t want him,  _someone else,_  to suffer because of my pride. And I can pay them back, I just don’t have enough right now. I’m already working on pieces for another gallery exhibition which would bring in some cash but that’s not till next month,” Zayn says morosely.

 

“Do you think your dad will laugh in your face if you ask for money?”

 

“I don’t think so. I hope not. I mean, when I finally started talking to them again, they kept offering to pay for my uni fees but I told them no because I wanted to earn my way. So, I mean it’s just a favour right? He shouldn’t be a wanker about it if I say I’ll pay them back.” Zayn groans then and flops on to Niall’s lap, and continues groaning.

 

Niall laughs lightly and pets his head.

 

“If they don’t, I don’t mind helping you, yeah? In fact, why bother going to them at all? I’ll help out and you can pay me back instead later.”

 

“No, no,” Zayn mumbles and sits up, “You’re gonna give me the money you are saving to buy a house. I know you. It’s alright, thanks for offering, mate.”

 

“So what? I mean, it’s not like the house is an emergency. I want to help, come on Zayn. Don’t be stubborn.”

 

“Yeah? I guess. You sure? I mean it might not even be needed, you know? Healthcare is free but I don’t know if Harry’s condition falls under that.”

 

“We’ll figure it out when we get there, okay bud? Now, come on introduce me to this Harry that has you blushing like a twelve year old girl,” Niall replies with a grin.

 

Zayn laughs and says, “Better not embarrass me.”

 

xx

 

Later that night, once Niall managed to empty out their entire fridge into his stomach and eventually left, Harry shuffles into bed with Zayn. Now that Zayn feels Harry spooning his back, he wonders when was the exact time that actually started. He finds that yeah, no, it doesn’t matter actually.

 

“Hey, Zayn,” Harry whispered into his hair.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m sorry. And really grateful too.”

 

“About what, babe?”

 

“You know, you spending so much on me. I overheard you talking to Niall in the afternoon. You don’t have to bring me to the doctor. I can like try to start work again or something.”

 

“Were you eavesdropping?” Zayn teases, stalling to answer something he doesn’t want to.

 

“What the hell do you expect?” Harry snorts. “I knew you guys were gonna talk about me.”

 

“Did you…mind?” Zayn asks carefully.

 

“No. It just made me realise how much you have done for me. It’s almost like…like Li-Liam.”

 

Zayn hates the way his heart hurts at Harry’s words and he wants to ignore him, ignore what he just said. Yeah, sure, he started out chasing Harry because he needed him for his art but ever since that day when Harry and he has put together all the pieces, he has been slowly falling for him. It’s hardly Zayn’s fault because really, Harry is the most considerate person he has ever met. And he is literally quite perfect in Zayn’s opinion.

 

But he knows, he really does, that Harry still loves Liam and for all that he is worth, Zayn can’t begrudge him that. They talk about it sometimes, how Liam made Harry feel safe and loved and  _special_  and Zayn knows he’ll never measure up. It’s alright though, he’s content just taking care of Harry but that doesn’t mean Harry’s words don’t feel like jagged daggers twisting in his heart.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry continues, “I heard…that bit about you liking me and I’m sorry you like me enough to have thought about getting money from your parents whom you clearly don’t like and I can’t like you back as much. But I do like you though. Just…”

 

“Not as much you love Liam,” Zayn finishes softly,  ”It’s okay, Harry, I don’t blame you. Liam sounds like he was an awesome guy. I don’t…want you to think you’re obligated to like me back or even do things out of gratitude.”

 

“I don’t! I mean I really do like you and not just because of all that you’re doing for me but because you’re just such an amazing person. But I feel grateful too, I mean that’s only natural right? Considering the fact the last two people quite literally threw me out onto the street whenever I became… _difficult_ , that is. But you didn’t, and now you wanna take me to the doctor. I just. I just feel like it’s unfair to you.”

 

“No, no, hey,” Zayn says as he turns in Harry’s arms to face him, “Harry, I don’t mind. In fact, I really want to, okay? If you wanna work that’s fine but you won’t be able to earn enough to pay for your bills anytime soon and I really don’t mind.” Zayn scratches Harry’s head the way he knows Harry likes it and Harry promptly closes his eyes and leans into the touch.

 

Zayn laughs a little, enamoured by how much like a kitten Harry is.

 

“Hey talking about work, if you want to, we should get you a cell, yeah? And I need to get a new one too. I’ve been too happy putting it off and being anti-social. Niall will kill me if I ignore his calls anymore. Plus, we should try and contact your parents, if you want to that is,” Zayn says.

 

Harry jerks and looks at Zayn with wide green eyes that flash even in the dark. “I’m - I, I dunno if I should. I haven’t in so long. They hate me by now.”

 

“No, of course they don’t. They are probably terribly worried about you, babe,” Zayn says and continues scratching his head to soothe him.

 

“Really?” Harry asks quietly, and Zayn is reminded once again how strangely innocent Harry is.

 

“Yeah, it’s like how Niall was with me today. Angry but actually really worried.”

 

And maybe the scratching is helping because Harry sleepily mumbles, “I like Niall, Niall’s nice.”

 

“Yeah? I think Niall likes you too, especially after he found all those food in our fridge.”

 

“Mmm, our fridge.”

 

Zayn is pretty sure Harry is nearly all-out sleeping now but even then, his sleepy  _our fridge_  makes his heart stutter. And yeah, okay, he is the one who said that first but Harry agrees and that’s makes all the difference.

 

Zayn falls asleep with a smile, his hand in Harry’s hair and Harry’s breath tickling his neck.

 

xx

 

It eventually takes another two weeks before Zayn convinces Harry to call his parents. They both went out a week earlier to get a cell for each of them with Harry promising that he’ll pay him back as soon as he finds work. So now, Harry is clutching the phone in his hand tightly as he presses it to his ear and looks at Zayn with worried eyes.

 

Zayn holds his hand and assures him that he’s sure their number didn’t change and to just calm down, all the while trying to ignore how Harry keeps biting his already puffy and red lips.

 

It is very difficult.

 

He is just about to snap at him to stop it,  _god,_  when Harry whispers out a ‘hello’.

 

Harry tightens his hold on Harry’s hand causing Zayn to wince. Harry is actually really strong and Zayn wishes he doesn’t have to find out this way.

 

“Hey mom?” Harry speaks, effectively cutting off Zayn’s inner monologue. “It’s me, Harry.”

 

“No, mom, it’s really me,” Harry repeats, his lip starting to wobble. “I’m sorry, mom. I - I…I missed you, mom.”

 

Harry looks down and Zayn sees fat teardrops starting to escape his eyes. He quickly wraps an arm around Harry and rubs a soothing hand down his back.

 

“I, I’m sorry mom. For everything. No mum, no I’m not crying. You are crying, don’t cry. I’m okay. I’m alright, I promise. Is that Gemma? Can I talk to her too? H-hi Gem. I m-missed you too. No, no, I’m not gonna di-disappear again. Can you put the phone on speaker so that mom hears it too? Yeah, I’m still here mom. I’m, I’m staying with this guy…”

 

Harry looks up to meet Zayn’s eyes and gives him a watery smile.

 

“No, it’s not Louis. I haven’t seen Louis in a long time. I…a lot of things have happened. And Zayn, that’s the guy I’m staying with, he’s so good, mom. He’s the best, and I think I have a medical problem so Zayn’s going to be bringing me to the doctor’s today. No, no, I’m alright. It’s not that bad anymore, ever since Zayn found me. I wish…I wish I could tell you guys but - but I’m still coming to terms with it myself and I can’t yet. Yeah, maybe I’ll tell you once we know what the doctor says. No, mom, please no, don’t send money. This is all my f-fault, you shouldn’t have to pay the price for it. I know, I l-love you too.”

 

Harry burrows into Zayn’s chest as he tries to stifle his sobs while still talking. Zayn murmurs sweet nothings into his hair and sways his body.

 

“So much, I missed you guys so much. Dad too. I wish I could have spoken to him. Yeah, yeah, this is my phone he can call me anytime. Please. I-I should probably give you Zayn’s number too, it’s necessary actually.”

 

After Harry gives them Zayn’s number and sobs quietly on the phone for a while, he finally hangs up and promptly curls into Zayn to continue crying.

 

“It’s gonna be okay, Haz. It’s fine. See, they don’t hate you. They love you, it’s going to be okay. We - you’ll go see them sometime soon, yeah? It’s gonna be okay, babe. Come on, let’s get your face cleaned up and I’ll cook you lunch this once, and then we’ll go see the doctor, yeah?”

 

He pulls Harry up and gets him to wash his face before kissing him on the forehead and telling him once again that it’s gonna be alright.

 

“I got snot all over your shirt,” Harry mumbles, a blush high on his cheeks.

 

Zayn laughs and says, “It’s fine, I’ve had worse.”

 

Harry looks at him sceptically that makes Zayn laugh some more and Harry’s grinning too.

 

“Hey, you don’t have to make lunch. It’s okay, I’ll do it.”

 

“Yeah? Thanks, I think the last time I actually cooked something that wasn’t breakfast food was months ago. I don’t even remember actually.”

 

Zayn grins at Harry’s horrified expression. He loves how exacting Harry is about anything and everything related to food. Zayn thinks he has gained a few pounds  _just_  by eating regularly, forget the fact that Harry often cooks the unhealthiest of dishes.

 

He watches Harry putter around the kitchen and thinks yeah,  _I could get used to this. Like forever._  He shakes his quickly at that errant thought and frowns because that’s a sure-shot path to getting hurt.

 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks.

 

“Huh? No, just thinking about the doctor’s appointment today,” and Zayn feels only a little guilty for the lie.

 

“I’m kind of nervous. I mean, it’s quite obvious I’m mad, right? But like if this can’t be fixed that’s gonna be bad.”

 

“Haz, you aren’t mad - “

 

“Please. We both know it’s true. I mean it’s like some form of multiple personality disorder. But it’s okay, yeah? I mean I’ve only had three episodes since living with you, so it’s not that bad but I just don’t wanna live like this forever, you know?”

 

“You sound like you’ve been putting quite a lot of thought into this.”

 

Harry snorts. “I have to, don’t I? I mean, how long can I burden you?”

 

Zayn hates it. He actually  _hates_  it whenever Harry brings this up, that he’s indebted to Zayn and that he would have to leave eventually because he doesn’t want to  _burden_  him. Zayn really, really hates it because he wants Harry to stay. He wants Harry to be alright and  _choose_  to stay with him regardless. And he just. He just really hates it.

 

Zayn sighs and simply says, “We’ll figure it out when we get there, yeah Haz?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry softly agrees and Zayn sees something he can’t quite identify flash in his eyes but it’s gone so fast, the raven-haired boy wonders if he imagined it. “By the way, why do keep calling me Haz?”

 

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. It just came to me? Why, do you not want me to?”

 

“No, no.” Harry grins. “I like it actually. I’ve never really had a nickname, so this feels nice.”

 

Zayn laughs and ruffles Harry’s mess of a hair as Harry puts a plate of stir-fry in front of him.

 

xx

 

Zayn can feel Harry tensing more and more as they near the clinic. No matter how many times Zayn gives him reassuring smiles or hand squeezes, Harry’s eyes still keep darting around frantically and his shoulders keep getting more hunched. By the time they walk through the entrance and Zayn goes forward to talk to the lady at the reception, Harry is sweating and flushed and looking downright miserable.

 

“Hey, hey, Haz,” Zayn says softly, holding his face in his hands and forcing Harry to look into his eyes, “The lady says she’ll call us in in about ten minutes. Stop worrying, I’m right here. I’ll be here all the way and no matter what the doctor says about your condition or treatment, nothing bad is going to happen, okay?”

 

Harry nods stiffly before sitting down, grasping Zayn’s hand tightly in his.

 

The doctor calls them in soon after and they both help to fill in as to what the situation is. It’s a bit of a teamwork - Zayn filling in on all those times when Harry was out of it - and Harry holds on to his hand all throughout. They tell the doctor about when Harry reverts to a toddler-like state, when Harry becomes violent, and every other little detail of his personality.

 

The doctor asks Harry questions and more often than not, Harry answers them with  _I actually can’t remember_  if Zayn isn’t allowed to answer for him. It takes a while but the doctor eventually sighs and takes off his glasses and Zayn thinks about how terribly cliched that is.

 

“Well,” the doctor begins, “It seems like Harry has a form multiple personality disorder, except it’s not distinct identities but just variations of himself at different stages of his life. This often happens when a person has gone through some sort of trauma - it could be physical or emotional, as is the case in Harry’s situation. I do not think it’s necessary to do a CT scan for growths in his brain or clots that are sometimes associated with such patients but if you want me to, I still can. Other than that, all I can really say is that it is highly possible Harry will become completely stable over time, with little or almost no such episodes but he will never regain the memories he is not even aware of. I suggest Harry come in for regular therapy sessions on top of some of the stabilisers I’ll give him, but the sessions aren’t compulsory. The idea is for Harry to keep himself in a safe and stable surrounding with little reason for him to relapse, and if you two are living together, then Zayn would obviously have to contribute to that. Now, what do you think?”

 

“I don’t want the therapy sessions. I’m comfortable with Zayn, I don’t want to keep getting reminded of this by coming for regular sessions. That’s…that’s okay right?”

 

“Yes, yes, of course. I just want you, and Zayn, to be completely aware of what you are dealing with,” the doctor says kindly.

 

“I think the last month had given us an idea already,” Zayn says dryly, “But doctor, what about those times when Harry wakes up from a nightmare and goes straight into an attack because I don’t think either of us can prevent those.”

 

“I can prescribe some sleeping pills that will ensure he has undisturbed sleep and hopefully that will work, and other than that just try to put him back to sleep as soon as possible, and hope that he’s okay again once he wakes up.”

 

“Yeah, yeah…okay. Haz, you wanna ask anything else?” Zayn turns to look at Harry. Harry shakes his head mutely.

 

“Well then, you can wait outside while I prescribe the medicine and then you can purchase them from the pharmacy. Only one of the medicines will cost you because it is not usually given out to just anyone, so I hope that’s okay?” The doctor asks.

 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Zayn smiles and the two boys slowly file out the room, thanking the doctor on their way out.

 

Once they are outside and waits for the prescription, Zayn asks, “You alright?”

 

“Yeah…thanks Zayn. I just, I just don’t know what I would have done without you,” Harry breathes out.

 

“It’s okay, no point thinking about that now. I’ve got you,” Zayn says, wrapping an arm around Harry to have him burrow his head into his neck.

 

“You know, this afternoon, you told me I can go back to see my family, right?” Harry mumbles into his neck, and Zayn nods. “I was wondering if you want to come with me? Like of you don’t mind and are free. I don’t - don’t want to go alone.”

 

“You sure that’s a good idea? You need time with your family, like alone time to catch up. I don’t want to intrude.”

 

“You wouldn’t. I would feel more uncomfortable if you aren’t there. I mean, it’s been so long since we have talked to each other, let alone met face-to-face, I’m afr-afraid that I might not match up to their expectations, and I. I don’t want to face that alone.”

 

Zayn wants to say no, he really does. It’s not  _fair_  that he keeps getting pulled in like this, even if half the time he is encouraging the pulling. Regardless, it’s not, it’s not right that Harry is making his pathetic heart swell when Zayn  _knows_  that Harry would actually prefer Liam. That it’s not about having  _Zayn_  in particular there with him, but it could have been anyone if they had gotten to Harry first and done all the things that Zayn did and is still doing because at the end, it’s Liam that still lives in Harry’s heart and Zayn just. He can’t compete with a ghost. He  _can’t_  and he doesn’t  _want_  to either.

 

But Harry is trembling in his arms and Zayn is helpless in the face of a broken Harry.

 

“I - uh - yeah okay,” Zayn conceded. “I’ll go. Let’s, let’s go soon though, yeah? The exhibit is coming up in twelve days. I have to be back in time to prepare for that.”

 

Harry looks up and beams at Zayn, and Zayn feels like he’s going to puke rainbows and glitter.

 

“Yeah. I’ll call them tonight and ask when is a good time, okay? And I’m excited about your exhibition. You still haven’t shown me any of your pieces even though you keep making me model for you,” Harry says, still smiling like he’s been told everyday is his birthday.

 

“Well, I want it to be surprise,” Zayn replies tartly and Harry laughs. Zayn smiles despite himself - Harry’s laugh is a little magical, yeah. “Now, come on, let’s go see where that nurse whose supposed to give us the prescription disappeared off to.”

 

xx

 

It’s two days later that Zayn finds himself falling asleep on a very excited and nervous Harry while they are on the train. They are going to Cheshire and staying for two days, ensuring that Zayn has plenty of time to prepare for the exhibition.

 

“Zayyyyyn,” Harry whines and prods at Zayn’s cheek.

 

“Harry,” Zayn huffs and swats at his hand. He doesn’t open his eyes.

 

“Come on, I’m bored. Talk to me,” Harry pleads and Zayn smiles because yeah, Harry has come a long way from that first night when he had been so stiff and guarded.

 

“What are you smiling about?” Harry asks suspiciously.

 

Zayn finally lifts his head and pulls a curl on Harry’s head in retaliation. “Nah, just thinking about how you were so careful and guarded at first. And now look at you, being an A-class whiny brat.”

 

Harry sticks his tongue out and continues to bounce on his seat.

 

“God, Haz, why are you so hyper?” Zayn groans. 9 am is too early for this shit.

 

“I don’t know! I have a feeling I’m going to have a panic attack when we get nearer but right now, I’m just excited to see them after so long.”

 

“Let’s just hope nothing extreme happens while we’re there,” Zayn mutters, referring to the fact that Harry had a particularly bad attack just yesterday.

 

“Yeah, well, we would still have to explain to my parents what’s been happening, right? You’ll help me, right?” Harry turns his big doe eyes on Zayn.

 

Zayn sighs.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Zayn groans out because seriously,  _why is this even my life_?

 

“You’re the best.”

 

“Yeah, okay. Now let me sleep. Shoo, go away, or, oh wait, no. Come be my pillow.”

 

“You’re not making any sense.” Harry laughs but moves so that Zayn can lean his head on his shoulders.

 

He feels Harry take his iPod and start fiddling with it. Zayn wants to snatch it away and tell him to  _just stop moving_  but doesn’t. He’s just too tired to give a fuck.

 

“Zayn…Zayn. Come on, you can’t be asleep that fast.”

 

“Haz, I’m  _this_  close to throwing you out the window.”

 

“Sorry, sorry.”

 

Zayn sighs and settles further into Harry’s side. Harry lays his head on top of Zayn’s, making him smile despite it all.

 

When he wakes its because Harry has taken to prodding him again, this time with the excuse that they are _finally here._

 

Gemma is going to be waiting for them outside in the car and as soon as they get off the train, Zayn starts towards the exit. Now that he is here, he is starting to feel antsy, wants to get it over with as fast as possible. He has never actually been to meet anyone’s parents except for Niall’s (but that’s because he practically lived there). He has never met any of his previous boyfriends’ parents and Harry is not even a boyfriend. Zayn doesn’t know if that makes the situation better - easier - or actually worse.

 

Just as they near the exit, Harry grips his arm, forcing him to jerk to a stop. He looks back and gives Harry a questioning look.

 

Looking down despite the grasp he has on the arm with which Zayn isn’t carrying the duffel bag, Harry shuffles his feet.

 

“Harry?”

 

“I…” Harry starts but before he finishes or lets Zayn have an inkling of what is going on, he surges forward to capture Zayn’s lips with his own.

 

And  _fuck_  if this isn’t everything (and  _some more)_  that Zayn has thought kissing Harry would be like. He is aware of the strangled moan that he emits before he is dropping the bag and sliding his arms around Harry’s shoulders. He loves that Harry is that much taller that to deepen the kiss, Harry has to bend down and Zayn has to reach up, maybe go on his tip toes.

 

And just like that, the spell is broken because Zayn is pushing against Harry and backing away, looking cornered.

 

He hates that his action is causing Harry to look so heartbroken. It’s not fair.

 

“Harry?” Zayn repeats and doesn’t even care that his voice is shaking. It  _doesn’t matter_ , not in the face of _this_.

 

“I’m s-sorry. I thought…you wouldn’t mi - fuck, I’m sorry. I ruined it all. God, please, Zayn don’t hate me,” Harry mumbles, looking close to tears, and as much as Zayn wants to protect his own heart (which frankly, _why do I even bother_?), Harry always comes first.

 

“Hey, hey, no, Haz. I don’t hate you. I could never,” he says as he reaches forward to simply hug Harry. “What’s wrong, why di - I’m just so confused. Talk to me.”

 

Harry slots his face into his neck and mumbles, “I just r-really li-li-like you. While you were sleeping, I just l-looked at you and just realised, how much I really like you…like actual and not  _just_  as a friend. And, and I thought you liked me too. But I’ve messed it all up now.”

 

Zayn notices people around them looking at them weirdly, probably wondering why a grown person is sobbing in the middle of the train station but seriously, Zayn could give zero fucks. Not when  _Harry_  is saying that he likes  _him_ , not when his lips are still tingling from the  _kiss_ , not when despite all of that, all Zayn can think of is  _no_.

 

“Harry, I do. I do like you  _so much_  but you don’t. You’re mistaking gratitude for  _liking_. You’re still in love with Liam, babe, and that’s okay,” Zayn pauses as Harry pulls away, “Yeah, that’s okay, just. Just don’t say you like me, yeah?  _Please_.”

 

Harry is giving him an inscrutable look, a mix between confused and disbelief and something else Zayn can’t quite identify.

 

“Come on, your sis is probably waiting already,” Zayn says to fill in the silence, “Let’s just - let’s just forget about this, okay?”

 

Harry nods mutely and picks up his own duffel bag before taking Zayn’s hand and walking. His expression is closed off and yet daring Zayn to actually protest the hand-holding. Zayn doesn’t.

 

xx

 

Zayn likes Gemma. He likes her despite the fact that she had taken one look at them and said an emphatic _oh_ , before spending the rest of the time trying to play matchmaker. It would be annoying if Gemma isn’t as blunt and funny as she is. And apparently Harry’s entire family is too perceptive to be real because they had been getting the same treatment from Harry’s parents as well.

 

Somewhat the same treatment, that is.

 

Apparently they had qualms about him, but after he and Harry had explained everything that had happened, they had welcomed him with open arms.

 

He still doesn’t know how he feels about it.

 

He finally took a break from all the smothering by coming out here in the patio, after Mrs Cox -  _Anne_  as she insists - rejected his offer to help with dinner with a delighted laugh at his  _politeness._  Zayn tries to remember the last time someone thought him to be polite.  _How novel._

 

He lights up a fag just as Gemma slinks in, and suppresses a sigh. He goes to put the cigarette out, but she simply waves at him to carry on. They stare out into space in silence. It’s rather nice, very scenic and peaceful, despite the constant prickling sensation at the back of his neck.

 

“You’re good for him,” Gemma says softly.

 

Zayn simply grunts, not knowing how to even start to reply to that.

 

“Not just because of his medical condition now, but even if that hadn’t happened, I think you’re better for him than Louis ever was or can be,” Gemma adds.

 

“Maybe, but you should hear Haz talk about Liam. Makes him sound like the second coming of Jesus,” Zayn replies because he has never been good with praise.

 

“Maybe before, I wouldn’t know, but it didn’t sound like it when we were inside. He looks at you like his world revolves around you.”

 

“Yeah, well, considering I was all he had until today, that’s not really saying much, is it?”

 

Gemma sighs.

 

“I took you to be more perceptive than this,” and Zayn dislikes that statement, “But apparently humans are known to be clueless when it comes to their own selves, so it’s okay.”

 

“I’m not clueless,” Zayn protests, “You should talk to Harry, you’ll realise I’m right then.”

 

“I already did. Well, not in so many words about this topic but that’s the thing, isn’t it? No matter what we talked about for the past eight hours or so, Harry mentions  _you_  in every other sentence.”

 

Zayn’s heart hammers in his chest, and he is barely refraining himself from  _demanding_  Harry if this is all true, if he actually has a chance, but.

 

_Yeah, no, I’m not going to torture myself with false hopes._

 

He merely gives Gemma a blank look before stubbing out his cigarette and going back inside.

 

“Hello,” Harry drawls when he sees him, his face lighting up and  _ugh,_ why did Gemma have to put these thoughts in his head when he had  _just_  gotten the morning’s incident out of there.

 

“Talking to Gemma?” Harry asks. “I hope she didn’t tell you embarrassing stories of me.”

 

“Nah, not yet, little bro,” Gemma says, coming in too, “Mom and I are planning to do it after dinner. She’s bringing out the albums too.”

 

Gemma starts cackling evilly as Harry whines his characteristic, “Heyyy.”

 

Zayn laughs, momentarily forgetting his inner turmoil, and says, “Awww, Haz, you can’t be worse than I was at thirteen. I had an  _actual_  bowl cut, like my mom used this bowl to do it. Worst haircut ever.”

 

Zayn shudders, remembering, while Harry giggles uncontrollably beside him.

 

Anne comes in right then holding a steaming dish, and Zayn’s chest tightens when he sees the adoring smile she sends Harry’s way. It’s been so very long since Zayn had anything akin to that directed towards him. He pushes the thoughts aside and smiles at Harry too because seeing him this bright-eyed with his dimply smile out is too precious.

 

He ignores the pointed look - complete with arched eyebrows and a smirk - Gemma sends him.

 

Dinner is a warm affair from then on. The baked rice with chicken ham is amazing and everyone digs in without much chit-chat. Zayn compliments her cooking skills and informs her that Harry is just as amazing. Anne looks delighted - frankly, Zayn thinks that’s just how her face  _is_ , but, well, whatever, no big deal - at this revelation and goes on to ask Harry about if he’s going to take up working at a bakery again.

 

“Probably,” Harry says, chewing around the baked rice, “Don’t know yet. I mean I haven’t quite stabilised yet, but I mean, I don’t know? Have to see if anyone’s willing to hire me.”

 

“I’m sure Mrs Lane would give you back your old job at her bakery,” Bobby says neutrally enough but it is enough to cause both Harry and Zayn to pause in their eating.

 

Before Zayn can begin to berate himself for  _assuming_  Harry will be going back to London with him, Harry speaks up. “Uh, no, dad. I meant back in London.”

 

“Yes, we know you’re going back tomorrow but surely that’s not permanent?” Anne asks, having paused her eating as well.

 

“Why not?” A furrow between Harry’s eyebrows is forming as he cocks his head to one side.

 

“Well, pet. I mean, wouldn’t it be easier for you to be home, some place you’ve known all your life rather than, you know, in London? Where would you even stay?”

 

Harry slides his hand into Zayn’s under the table. It probably is done unconsciously but Zayn feels a thrill arc up his arm.

 

Harry isn’t looking at him, isn’t looking for any reassurance as he says, “With Zayn, of course,” but Zayn still squeezes the warm hand in silent support.

 

“Zayn, honey, I like you, I do, so please don’t take offense to what I’m about to say. Harry, Zayn is barely an adult himself, can he actually take care of you?” Anne asks with a concerned look, and Zayn can’t really begrudge her that because it’s natural for her to think as such, to worry as such.

 

But still, “If you don’t mind me interrupting, I would just like to say that I actually have a pretty stable job with a decent income. Sure, it will be tight managing for two, and I’m not forcing Harry to stay with me or anything, but I  _can_  actually manage for both of us. But of course that is  _if_  Harry wants it, and you guys too. I’m just saying that Harry is always welcome with me.”

 

It sort of actually hurts to say all that, to pretend he is going to be  _okay_  despite what Harry decides because he really is  _not_  going to be so if Harry decides to stay here in the end. And it is taking all of Zayn’s self-control to not simply wrap his arms around Harry and refuse to let go until  _they_  reach London.

 

“Besides,” Harry adds, his tone a lot more confident now, “He has been the one taking care of me all this time. I don’t think anyone can do it better than him if that’s what you guys are worried about, to be honest.”

 

Anne looks a little hurt then but both Harry’s dad and sister have similar looks of understanding on their faces and when Anne goes to protest, her husband simply lays a hand on her hand to quell the argument. She sighs and quirks her lips up in a tired smile.

 

She reaches over and grasps one of Zayn’s hands and  _god_ , he feels so overwhelmed already. She says softly, “I do like you, Zayn. I hope you didn’t mind me, I was just worried about my baby, and having gotten him back after so long, it’s a little hard. But I do see why Harry would want to stay with you, and I see why my husband and daughter both seem to support you too. You’re a good boy.”

 

Zayn nods dumbly, unsure if he can actually speak. It is needless to say such open displays of affection were quite nearly unseen in his household, even back when he used to live with them. Harry gives him a soft smile before squeezing his hand, still in Harry’s.

 

They quickly finish up dinner after that with Zayn and Harry offering to wash and dry the dishes. There is light chit chat in the living room later, before everyone hugs Harry and smiles at Zayn and go on up to bed. Once they are gone, Zayn feels a little more like he can breathe now.

 

He honestly likes Harry’s family, but they are a little overwhelming with their adoring smiles and happy stories. It’s one thing to constantly live with Harry’s dopey smile and easy touches (except, Harry can become a moody little bitch sometimes too and that makes the happy times more bearable) and another thing altogether to multiply that by 4.

 

He turns towards Harry, about to ask if they should go up to bed as well, when he is completely taken aback by the expression on his Harry’s face. The thing is, Zayn prides himself for being discerning, for being able to read people well and so he thinks he really must be losing his touch because the only way to describe Harry’s expression is  _awestruck_  and  _full of love_  which -

 

That is just plain crazy because since when did Harry start looking at him like he hung the moon and stars and everything else in between?

 

“Harry?” he asks tentatively because  _no, I’m not going to break my own heart_. But apparently Harry has no idea of what’s going on inside of him, or maybe he does, just doesn’t have the consideration to let him wallow in peace and without adding any more grief, because before Zayn can even say  _what_ , Harry has flung himself into Zayn’s arms. His arms lay limp by his sides as tries to come to terms with the fact that he has a lapful of Harry Styles, who, by the way, is trying to  _crawl into him_  or something if the way he has his entire body plastered to Zayn’s is any indication.

 

Zayn’s arms slowly circle Harry, and the curly-haired boy nuzzles further into Zayn. Zayn is awfully confused.

 

“I’m just really glad you’re here,” Harry mumbles into his neck. “And that you want me to go back to London with you. Because I want to, and I was afraid you were going to say no because of what happened this morning.”

 

“Oh. Um,” Zayn doesn’t really know how he’s supposed to respond to that, “Okay. Yeah, but you  _know_  I always want you around. You do know that right?”

 

“Yeah, it’s hard not to when that one time I went out to go shopping for groceries without you had you pouting for the entire day,” Harry says with a smile that Zayn can feel against his neck, and  _seriously_ , why does Harry need to bring that incident up? It’s embarrassing enough that it actually happened, but in all honesty, who can blame him? He hadn’t thought to come home to an empty apartment, he had gotten used to having Harry,  _that’s all._  It was just disconcerting. Whatever, it was  _legit_.

 

“But, like, yeah so I do know you get a bit mental when I’m not around but after this morning, I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore because I’m too much trouble,” Harry continues to mumble into his neck, which is very pleasant and adorable but it’s really making Zayn warm all over (and Harry sitting on his lap isn’t helping). He needs to put some inches between them before his body does something stupid like get a boner.

 

“Um, Harry,” Zayn says, and pulls back slightly, making Harry stare up at him with the eyes he usually gets when he’s about to  _cry_ , “If I don’t find you going crazy on me every few days and still like you after every single one of your episodes, I highly doubt you being confused about your feelings is enough for me to throw you out. I’m, I’m not -“

 

“But I’m  _not_  confused. I don’t, I don’t understand why me liking you is such an absurd thought,” Harry says, an agitated line appearing between his brows.

 

“Because,” and Zayn pauses because  _shit_ , it’s not that absurd of an idea anymore, not when just second earlier he had seen the expression on Harry’s face before he had ambushed him, “I…it’s not - no, just that, you still love Liam. I mean you never stopped, how could you? It’s not like he did anything wrong to you, so I just, I don’t see how you can like  _me_  when you  _love_  Liam, even if he has passed away.”

 

“You don’t get it, do you? I couldn’t  _mourn_  Liam for the longest time, because of what had happened, because I was constantly  _running_ , and when I finally found something stable with you, I talked about him a lot, because that’s the only way I  _can_  cope now. But I’m not in love with him anymore, I’m not in love with a dead person, and yeah I love him, love him for having existed at all, love him for loving  _me_ , love him for the person he was but I’m not  _in love_  with him anymore. I don’t know how to be when I wasn’t allowed to dig myself into that hole because of how I spent the months after his death.”

 

“Then…he - you like m -” Zayn gives up trying to form a sentence and just  _looks_  at Harry. His heart is beating far too fast, and he is pretty sure everything he is feeling, feels for Harry can be seen in his eyes.

 

“Yeah…I like  _you_. And it’s not just gratitude, I know when it’s gratitude. Gratitude is when my family accepts me living with you, gratitude is for the doctor who made all of this seem okay even though it might not be because he realised I needed something to go on for, gratitude is when Niall treats me normally even though I’m batshit crazy and gratitude for you giving me a place to stay and taking care of me when you didn’t have to, even if you claim it’s because you wanted a muse and it’s for selfish reasons, blah. But it’s  _liking_  when I  _want_  to stay with you even when I have other choices, when I  _like_  seeing you look so happy to get proper meal, when I  _can’t_  spend too long without you near me, even if we’re not paying attention to each other. That’s  _like_. And I know you like me too. Like proper  _liking_  but how I know that is for me to know and savour. So.”

 

Zayn’s pretty sure if he hadn’t lived his whole life learning to never give into ‘weak’ emotions or displays of them, he would be crying right now. Because  _Harry_ , he’s the most amazing person he has ever seen and he adores him so much it’s crazy, and Harry liking him back is even crazier but so,  _so_  good and it feels so, so _right_. He doesn’t mean to, or maybe he does (because if he tries to actually say something, he might end up making dying whale noises instead), to surge forward, capturing Harry’s lips with his own. He doesn’t know how  _else_  to show his feeling and so he drags Harry impossible close to him and twist his hands in Harry’s shirt.

 

Harry opens his lips and  _keens_  when Zayn licks into his mouth, making all the blood to rush south. The kiss is marvellously hot, all sorts of desperate and passionate, and it’s making Zayn light-headed. The soft sound of slick lips rubbing against each other is making it even harder to pull back, to give an inch. He bites down Harry’s bottom lip, causing the boy to let out a moan and grind down on Zayn and -

 

 _Oh_.

 

Zayn can’t help but moan as well when he feels Harry’s hard-on rub deliciously on his and it’s seven types of overwhelming that Zayn  _has_  to break away. He rests his forehead against Harry’s and they simply just breathe. Breathe in whatever the other exhales and it’s intimate in a different sort of way. Zayn can’t think of a better place he’d rather be.

 

“Hi,” Harry says, smiling softly at him.

 

“Hey,” Zayn replies dryly, chuckling.

 

“I hope my parents didn’t hear us. Or worse, Gemma. She’d never stop taking the piss.”

 

“Oh  _God_. She’ll be insufferable.”

 

“Wanna go upstairs? Cuddle and sleep?” Harry asks, suddenly shy - twin splotches of blood colouring his cheeks.

 

“Yeah…yeah let’s go.”

 

Harry kisses him once more, and then again. Slow ones that are so unlike their first one, but still so perfect.

 

xx

 

The trip back to London is good and bad all at the same time. They are both so restless and on the edge, feeling like they might just leap out of their skins any second. It doesn’t help that Harry’s worse than the first time round - fidgeting every few seconds with heavy-lidded gazes at Zayn. Zayn can’t even sleep this time to ignore Harry, not when there is this  _sexual tension_  simmering between them, almost palpable in the way it’s coiling around them, cocooning them away from the rest of the world. But frankly, it’s a little hard to give a fuck about the rest of world, the people around them, when Harry’s hand has been  _slowly_ inching up his thigh ever since he accidentally tugged on an errant curl on Harry’s head and he let out a throaty gasp.

 

It doesn’t help that last night, after going up to bed all they had done was take off their shirts and lay beside each other, just feeling each other’s naked skin on their own. It doesn’t help that Harry had woken him up with a love bite being sucked into his collarbone only to get interrupted by Gemma.

 

They barely make it through the apartment door now before they are dropping the bags at the entrance, and attacking each other. It’s not quite a battle of dominance but then again, it also is. Zayn doesn’t know who moved first to get the other as close to him as possible but he figures it doesn’t really matter.

 

Harry has Zayn backed against the wall beside the door, his mouth attached to his neck, as his hands explore underneath Zayn’s rucked up shirt. Zayn moans loudly when Harry’s fingertips graze his nipples, and it has Harry locking his lips with Zayn’s - swallowing any subsequent desperate noises.

 

“Want you to fuck me,” Harry breathes against his lips and it takes all of Zayn’s willpower to not come there and then.

 

Zayn tangles his hands in Harry’s hair and yanks him back gently. Looking at Harry’s blown wide pupils - the black nearly swallowing the green - he has no reservations left in complying Harry’s demand. He  _can’t_ , not in the face of such open want, open lust that he is pretty sure is reflected in his own expression.

 

He drags him back into a bruising kiss, one hand still clutching tightly to his hair, the other travelling down to grasp his hip - anchoring Harry to himself, their hard-ons rubbing enticingly against each other.

 

“Bed,” Zayn gasps and Harry nods. Not pulling his mouth away, Harry starts to drag them back towards the bedroom. Zayn tugs on his shirt, needing to feel, to touch, to  _see_  Harry’s skin. As soon as he has discarded Harry’s shirt, he starts sucking a bruise into the skin right above his right nipple. Harry throws back his head and breathes harshly, feeling his nipple harden and become so sensitive. Zayn doesn’t pay it any attention, instead mouths at the birds tattooed below his collarbones.

 

They topple back on to the bed when the back of Harry’s legs hit it. Zayn whips his own shirt off and straddles Harry, raking his fingers down the expanse of his torso. Harry grunts and arches up, eye closed.

 

“Come onnn,” Harry whines needily, thrusting his hips up to get some -  _any_  - kind of friction. But apparently Zayn isn’t fast enough, and he turns them over such that he is now looming over Zayn.

 

He licks across a nipple and smirks when Zayn lets out a strangled sound. He closes his lips around the peak, and the heat of it has Zayn arching - aching to get more - while Harry snakes a hand in between to open Zayn’s jeans. He shoves the jeans and boxers off, moving his mouth across to the other nipple, only pausing to kiss the tattoo lips in the middle. He pulls back to look at Zayn’s dick, now smearing pre-come on his stomach, and subconsciously licks his lips. The sight of that has Zayn groaning and clutching the bed sheets.

 

Zayn reaches down to open the fly of Harry’s pants and Harry quickly takes them off, along with his boxers. Zayn’s eyes widen he looks at Harry’s dick, and moans at the thought of having it inside him next time. He rolls them over, and grins down at Harry, liking the way his glaze over when their dicks touch and rub.

 

“Next time, you’re fucking me, yeah? Wanna ride you,” Zayn mumbles against skin behind Harry’s ear, making the boy shiver and clutch tightly at his sides. He grinds up harder against Zayn as the black-haired boy kisses his way down to Harry’s lips.

 

“Come on - wa-want you inside me al-already,” Harry says between kisses, trying not to disconnect their lips too much.

 

“Ye-yeah…” Zayn replies breathily, before reaching over into his beside table drawer for lube and condom.

 

When Zayn pulls back up, Harry pushes at the condom and says, “Don’t want. Want to feel you. Got myself tested the other day when you were out.”

 

Zayn’s heart hammers in his chest as he looks at Harry, wondering what kind of good deed he did in his past life to deserve Harry in this.

 

“God,  _Harry_ , you - you’re the. You’re amazing,” Zayn says with awe shining in his eyes. He leans down to kiss him to show how much he cares for the curly-haired boy, to show just how  _much_  he means to him.

 

He kisses down Harry’s body, kisses the tip of his dick before moving past and down his balls, and finally to the puckered hole. Harry whines loud and high when Zayn simply licks a stripe across it, and he tries to push down on Zayn mouth. Zayn bites around the edge, making Harry inhale sharply.

 

“Zayn -  _please_. Sto-stop teasing.”

 

Zayn probes the hole with his tongue while lubing up his fingers. He slowly slides one finger in, causing Harry to moan and arch up - not knowing whether he likes the intrusion or not.

 

“You okay?” Zayn asks, breathless as he watches his finger slide in and out of Harry.

 

“Yeah, yeah…More,” Harry replies, head thrown back and eyes sewn shut.

 

Harry gasps as Zayn adds another finger. It’s tight and hot and Zayn’s brain nearly short-circuits thinking about sinking his cock in that. He scissors his fingers and adds another. Harry starts fucking himself back on his fingers and the sight of it is making Zayn’s throat dry.

 

“Want you,” Harry says, almost mindlessly, “Inside me now. Zayn, Zayn, want you in - in me.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn mutters as he pulls his fingers out, leaving Harry’s hole clenching, “Jesus.”

 

He quickly lubes himself up and when Harry starts to turn over, he stops him, saying, “Wanna see you, yeah?”

 

He brushes the hair back on Harry’s forehead as Harry nods.

 

“Ready?” Zayn asks, lining himself up against Harry’s entrance.

 

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, eyes falling shut.

 

“Haz, babe, look at me. Wanna see your eyes.”

 

Harry opens his eyes just as Zayn pushes in, past the first ring of tight muscle. They both let out identical sighs as Zayn bottoms out. Zayn stills, letting Harry adjust to him. It’s difficult not to just pound into Harry what with the way he feels so goddamn  _good_  around him.

 

“Move,” Harry says, rotating his hips slightly. Both of them groan.

 

Zayn starts to slowly thrust in and out, still looking steadily at Harry, gauging his reaction with every movement. Harry slides his arms around Zayn, pulling him into a searing kiss. Zayn knows the exact moment he hits his prostrate - he can feel it in the way Harry loses track of the kiss, the way Harry bites down on his lips. He lets go of Zayn’s lip, going in to suck another bruise onto Zayn’s neck.

 

“Faster,” he mouths against the skin there, “ _Harder.”_

 

Zayn brings his hands behind his back, catching hold of Harry’s ankles where they had naturally locked themselves at. He places Harry legs on his own shoulders, turning his head to kiss the calf as he almost bends Harry into half. He grabs Harry’s hips tightly as he starts fucking into him with fast and hard strokes.

 

He is well aware Harry will have bruises all over his hips and arse by the end, and it sends a primal thrill of some sort spiralling through his body. The image of Harry marked with his fingerprints and lovebites has Zayn pounding harder into Harry, with him moaning everytime Zayn hits his prostrate.

 

“Fuck,  _fuck_ , Harry,” Zayn says in broken whispers, “You feel. Feel so good.”

 

He reaches down to clasp a handful of curls in his hand and yanks Harry’s head back, exposing his long line of neck. He bends Harry in a way that must surely be impossible, reaching forward to bite down on Harry’s neck where his pulse is racing.

 

He pulls back and finally reaches down to curl his fingers around Harry’s cock, which is looking almost purple from neglect.

 

Harry whimpers, “Please.” He clutches at the sheets, twisting them unconsciously as Zayn strokes him in time to his thrusts.

 

“Fuck, go-gonna come,” Harry says with a ragged breaths.

 

“Yeah? Come for me, Haz,” and Zayn pounds harder, stroking Harry faster, hand twisting on the upstroke.

 

“No, no. Want to feel yo-you first. Wanna feel your come in m-me.”

 

 _Shit_ , Zayn barely has time to think  before his hips are stuttering  _once, twice_  and then he’s burying deep within Harry - come filling him up. And it’s a chain reaction from there on Harry feels Zayn’s warmth spill within him and subsequently comes in hot, thick ropes across their abdomens.

 

They both pant as they calm down from their high, Zayn’s sweat dripping down to mingle with Harry’s. He slowly pulls out of Harry, and strokes Harry’s face when he winces.

 

“Gonna get a cloth to clean us up, okay?” he murmurs into Harry’s ear before getting off the bed.

 

He comes back with a damp hand-towel. Harry hisses when the cloth touches his butt, now red and sore.

 

“Sorry, babe,” Zayn mumbles, far too entranced by the way Harry’s hole looks puffy and well-fucked. His own dick twitches at the sight, and he quickly cleans up his come sliding down. He places a soft kiss against the tender flesh of an arse-cheek and moves up to clean up Harry’s chest and stomach. Zayn quickly cleans himself after that and throws the cloth towards the bathroom, not bothering to walk back.

 

He flops down beside Harry, and hums contentedly when Harry immediately curls up against him. He wraps an arm around Harry and pulls him even closer, kissing the top of his head. Harry sighs happily and nuzzles into Zayn’s chest. He threads his fingers through the fingers on Zayn’s free hand.

 

xx

 

Zayn  _smells_  Harry before he sees him. He has taken to washing himself a body wash that smells like oranges and the scent follows him everywhere he goes. Zayn is kind of in love with it.

 

“Hey babe,” Zayn says without turning, “You know I don’t want you to see my pieces before the show.”

 

“I know,” Harry replies, shuffling closer, shutting the studio door behind him. “But I was getting lonely.  _Plus_ , you’ve been holed up here for fourteen hours now and I wanna see at least something small.”

 

Harry pouts for good measure.

 

Zayn sighs and faced the piece he is working on away from Harry. “How about I show you some of the minor pieces?”

 

Harry nods eagerly at him, and Zayn pulls him along to one of the canvases on which a cloth is draped over. He looks intently at Harry, trying to figure out his reaction to the painting.

 

It’s a small one compared to the rest, to the main one at least. But it still speaks a lot to Zayn and he wonders if Harry understands. Harry’s face is carefully blank though, and it makes Zayn a little apprehensive.

 

“Can I see more?” Harry asks, instead of commenting on the first piece.

 

Zayn nods and pulls the cloths off of several canvases he knows hold paintings in a series leading up to the main one. Some of the have pieces of Harry in them, and some have all of Harry; and even those which don’t have Harry at all are so stark in comparison that it feels like Harry is in those paintings still. Some are full of dark, angry colours, and others, much milder, much calmer and it’s obvious that the whole exhibit will be  _about_  Harry and how Zayn perceives him, how he  _feels_  about him.

 

“I-  _shit_ ,” Harry stutters and looks to Zayn. “I can’t. It’s a little too - it’s a bit much. Just let me. Let me absorb.”

 

The niggling feeling of appreprehension gives way to a dreadful dead weight in Zayn’s stomach as he steps back and lets Harry have his space.

 

“I just,” Harry starts after a while, “They are lovely. Of course they are, because you’re amazing. Bit it’s just that. I know it’s how you see me and you’ve put so much of yourself in them but. But the fact is, half of these show me at times when I don’t even know  _myself_  and that’s just. That’s just really hard.”

 

Harry turns around and wraps himself around Zayn. Zayn’s arms automatically come up to circle Harry, pulling him in.

 

Harry mumbles into his neck, “It’s hard because people will get to see it. People might buy and keep those in their homes or wherever and I don’t how to feel about that. About giving pieces of myself away when I don’t even know what pieces they are. And - and I know it’s not my call, because these are yours but it just. It’s just very difficult. I’m sorry.”

 

“No, no Haz,” Zayn quickly says, hating it,  _himself_ , whenever Harry apologizes. “It’s okay. You’re right.  _I’m_ sorry for doing this without your permission. I won’t. I won’t show these, yeah? It’s a little heart-wrenching to say that, in all honesty, because I want the world to see how amazing and beautiful you are and how many  _facets_  there are to you but it is your decision. Because I can’t lay bare your life like that. That’s not a right that I have and I get it.”

 

Harry sniffles and holds him a little tighter, mumbling  _I’m sorry_ s into his skin. Zayn smoothes his hands down Harry’s back soothingly, feeling a little ache at what people will never see but -

 

But it’s worth it. If it makes Harry happier, it’s always worth it.

 

“What’s the name of the whole exhibition?” Harry asks suddenly.

 

“Umm…The Lost Soul.”

 

Harry pulls back and cocks an eyebrow at Zayn. Zayn promptly blushes.

 

“It’s a little cheesy, I know! I just thought it fit best!” Zayn defends himself.

 

Harry laughs, a little watery around the edges of the sound.

 

“Yeah, maybe. But I found my home, didn’t I?” Harry says with a mischievous smirk.

 

“Now who’s the one being cheesy?” Zayn teases Harry, delighting in the glint in Harry’s eyes.

 

“Yeah? Well, I came here to entice you out with a blowjob, but if you’re going to make fun of me, I’ll just le -“

 

Zayn shuts Harry up with a kiss and says against his lips, “You are the actual worst.”

 

“But you want me still.”

 

“Fuck, yeah,” Zayn breathes out.

 

“Come on,” Harry says, moving towards the door - tugging Zayn by his lips where he still has own fastened.

 

“Where?” Zayn nearly whines. He is perfectly comfortable doing this right here, in his studio.

 

“Bedroom,” Harry says in between sucking bites into his neck now and  _bloody hell_ , the ones from the last time hasn’t even healed yet. “Want you to fuck my mouth.”

 

And yeah, Zayn’s brain fizzles out hearing that coming from Harry’s mouth, carried over in that husky voice.

 

“Fuck, you can’t just say things like that, Haz,” Zayn groans. They reach the bedroom and Harry drops to his knees, looking up at Zayn with the filthiest smile he has ever seen.

 

Zayn tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair as Harry quickly pulls down Zayn’s trackies and boxers. His cock is already hard as it springs out and Harry noses against the base, teasing Zayn mercilessly with the hot puffs of breath he exhales against the skin there.

 

When Zayn tugs at Harry’s hair impatiently, he finally licks a strip up the base of Zayn’s cock to the tip. He kisses round the head before wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

 

Zayn inhales sharply and only  _just_  holds himself back from thrusting into the wet, warm heat of Harry’s mouth. Harry pushes down more and more as he bobs up and down his dick. The flutter of Harry’s throat against the tip of his fick has Zaym groaning and clutching harder at Harry’s hair.

 

Finally Harry looks up at Zayn and deliberately lets his mouth hang open, an open invitation to take his throat any way that he likes. Zayn looks at Harry to be sure once more before giving over to the mindless heat and lust, and just fucks into his mouth. Zayn doesn’t worry about Harry not enjoying himself, not when Harry keeps moaning around his dick and palms himself through his own pants.

 

“Gonna come,” Zayn manages, and tries to push Harry off but Harry starts sucking his dick even more intently and yeah okay, Zayn gets it. He gets it so much so that the intention in itself nearly causes Zayn to lose it.

 

But it’s a combination of that, and Harry’s tongue and the image of Harry’s lips around his cock that has Zaym coming down Harry’s throat with a shout. Harry swallows and continues sucking, milking every drop from Zayn. He sits back and looks up at Zayn with a smug smile that has Zayn hauling him up into a heated kiss.

 

He can taste himself on Harry’s tongue and it really shouldn’t be as hot as he finds it to be. He can feel the hard line of Harry’s cock against his hip and he pushes Harry onto the bed. Taking off Harry’s trousers, he quickly wraps a hand round his flushed red dick while sticking two fingers into Harry’s mouth with the instruction to  _suck_.

 

Zayn strokes Harry in time to Harry sucking his fingers and he is soon discovering that he might have a thing for Harry’s lips wrapped around things. When they are wet enough, he pulls out his fingers and plunges one unceremoniously into Harry’s hole. He’s a little looser than the first time those two days ago, and Harry still whines at the finger probing him.

 

He slides in a second one and starts thrusting in and out, crooking them once in a while or rubbing repeatedly against the bundle of nerves that has Harry arching in a silent scream. A particularly pointed jab against his prostrate suddenly has Harry coming. He cries out and Zayn continues to thrust his fingers, letting Harry ride out his high.

 

Zayn falls beside him soon, and Harry, as usual, lays his head against Zayn’s tanned chest and starts nuzzling. Zayn chuckles softly, because yeah, he still remembers those first few days when Harry reminded him of a kitten.

 

“Zayn?” Harry asks tentatively. At Zayn’s answering hum, he continues, “If you don’t use those pieces, then what’s gonna happen for the exhibit?”

 

Zayn shrugs, even though he is far from being nonchalant, and says, “Maybe make different pieces. Probably postpone it for a while. I work better under pressure anyway.”

 

Harry hums and presses soft kisses on whatever patch of skin his lips reach as he traces outlines of the tattoos on Zayn’s chest.

 

It takes a few minutes before he says, “I think. As in, I wouldn’t mind - I, I think you should use the ones you already did.”

 

Zayn looks at him in surprise. “But you’re uncomfortable with it.”

 

“Nah, I mean yeah, okay, I sort of am? But…but I mean, those parts of me, like the painting where you drew me playing with your soft pastels like they are crayons, those aren’t important bits of me anyway. Right? I mean, even if people looks at it or buy it, it’s still not really  _me_. Besides, I kind of - kind of like that it’s me you’re painting and showing off to the world?”

 

Harry watches him with green eyes that look impossibly huge. Zayn sighs and brushes back a curl that has fallen wayward on his forehead and kisses there. He wraps his arms more securely around Harry and only when he is sure Harry has fallen asleep that he whispers, “I think I love you.”

 

xx

 

Zayn, true to his words, doesn’t show Harry the main piece until the night of the exhibit. Harry has needled and wheedled and done every other underhanded act (like waking him up with  _blowjobs_ ) possible to get Zayn to show him the main piece. And Zayn honestly doesn’t know why he is holding off because it really isn’t that great or anything - he just wants it to be a surprise for Harry  _because_  he is so excited to see it. It makes Zayn smile, the way Harry keeps grinning and bouncing in the cab they are taking to the venue.

 

Zayn is excited too - he always is, despite each show being like countless others he has done, his regular clients turning up along with some new faces - but somehow with Harry beside him, he feels a lot more grounded. A lot less like he’s going to crawl out of his own skin. As he gets out of the cab in front of the venue, Harry following out behind him, he takes a second to look at Harry properly.

 

Harry in the plain blue shirt and grey blazer with tight blue jeans is the sexiest thing Zayn has ever seen. He wonders if he has to fend people off of Harry all night and he realises that he sort of relishes that idea - to show everyone the Zayn-sized stamp on Harry. He likes that they kind of match too what with Zayn wearing black jeans and a thin, patterned grey sweater underneath his usual black leather jacket. He has glasses on (because Harry had insisted) and when he looks back up into Harry’s eyes, he sees him checking him out too.

 

“You look proper artsy fartsy,” Harry teases, sliding an arm around Zayn’s waist.

 

“Do I?” Zayn says, his voice a smooth caress, “And you look proper fit and sexy.”

 

Harry smiles coyly at him, “We look good together, if I say so myself. The up and coming hipster artist and his very good-looking, very charming arm candy.”

 

Harry winks lewdly at Zayn, making him laugh. “You’re more than that though,” Zayn whispers against Harry’s jaw. He leans up a little to kiss him and absolutely loves the way, Harry automatically brings him flush against his chest.

 

“Come on, let’s go inside,” he tells Harry, breaking away. “According to Niall, who hasn’t stopped texting me ever since he got here, there are more people than usual.”

 

“Nervous?”

 

“A little bit, yeah. Want them to like the stuff, and you.”

 

“I just want them to acknowledge your talent. Don’t care if they like me or not. It’s about you tonight.”

 

“Yeah, but,” Zayn demurs, “You’re part of me. You are part of the paintings.”

 

They make their way towards the entrance and Zayn can already see people mingling about, sipping on champagne. He wonders when he went from shitty studio-cum-galleries at university to having regular clients and their rich friends come ponder over his work as they sip on wine.

 

Harry squeezes his hand in support and Zayn enters the gallery room with a smile lighting his face.

 

They moment he walks through he doesn’t get crowded by art enthusiasts like he has seen done at other artists’ shows, but he has some tipping their heads to him in silent appraisal and others smiling at him, and he is happy - no,  _elated_  - with that. But he can see also some curious and excited, wondering if the beautiful person beside him is the pivot of this entire show.

 

When one of his regular clients - a certain Mr and Mrs Hanson - approach him about his paintings and Harry, it soon has others opening up to ask and make conversation. Harry is shy at first, but whenever he speaks he charms nearly everyone into buying any of the paintings. Zayn smiles proudly at the way Harry has everyone eating out of his palm.

 

“Long time no see,” comes a familiar voice from behind him. He turns with a smile to look at the girl with purple hair, one of his ex-models, and also ex-fling.

 

“Perrie,” Zayn acknowledges and returns the hug she enfolds him in. “Nice to see you here.”

 

“You know I’ll never miss any of your shows,” she says, looking up at him through her lashes coyly, something that would have once had Zayn turning into putty around her.

 

“Thanks,” he replies, with a smile, not minding that she is standing closer than strictly necessary. After all, she was once someone he cared about and still does, but just as a friend now.

 

“The pieces are amazing. Best I’ve ever seen you do. Your muse, heard his name is Harry, must be quite the inspiration.”

 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, automatically turning to look at Harry chatting with a woman a few feet away with a smile, “He is the best.”

 

As if aware Zayn is looking at him, talking about him, Harry looks up straight into Zayn’s eyes. His lips curve up before he notices the girl beside him and the lack of distance between them. Harry’s eyes narrow before he disengages from the woman and ambles over to them. His smile is still friendly, just his eyes are a little sharp and Zayn realises that he might not have discerned that if he wasn’t so in tune with Harry’s moods and expressions.

 

“Hi, I’m Harry,” he says, simultaneously sliding a hand into Zayn’s and holding out the other to Perrie.

 

Perrie’s eyes flicker to their clasped hands before she shakes his hand. “Perrie. Nice to see you in person. You look amazing, in the paintings and in person,” she says, trying to keep her voice neutral.

 

“Thanks,” Harry replies, blushing because he’s not used to the kind of compliments he has been getting all evening. “It’s all Zayn’s doing. Making me look better than I actually am.”

 

Zayn makes a noise of protest and Perrie laughs.

 

“I can see why Zayn is so taken with you,” she says, smiling a little easier before nodding at Zayn and walking away.

 

“Well, that was strange,” Harry murmurs low into Zayn’s ear.

 

“Yeah, well. She’s an old…what’s the word? Oh, yeah -  _old flame_.”

 

“Guessed as much. Didn’t like the way she was standing so close.”

 

Zayn snorts. “I could tell,” he replies dryly. “Come on, let’s go see that damned painting you’ve been hounding me for. Haven’t had you to myself this evening at all.”

 

He pulls Harry along behind him, fingers carded through each other’s and surreptitiously ignoring anyone trying to catch their attention. He breathes in deeply before turning the corner and letting Harry see the piece hanging on its own on the wall, very majestic in its loneliness.

 

A single eye is the focal point and it’s so obvious that it is Harry’s eye. The emotion shining through it is so strong, so real that it makes sense only one eye has been painted - as if, having a pair would be too much to handle. There are wings sprouting from the outer corner while there is blood dripping from the inner one. There are trees and birds and  _nature_  on one side - the angelic wings’ side - and buildings and concrete pavements and  _mankind_  on the other side - the blooded teardrop’s side. The transition from one spectrum to the other is seamless in their colour, in the subjects filling the spaces in between and Harry feels a little overwhelmed. To know that Zayn sees both sides of him,  _understands_  both sides of him, it’s a little. A little crazy and  _too much_  all at the same time.

 

“I - you - that’s m - I’m kind of speechless?” Harry stumbles through the words clogging in his throat.

 

“Good speechless or bad speechless?”

 

“Good, definitely good. Fuck, Zayn, this is amazing and not just because it’s me. But like. You just  _get_  me, you know? And I don’t know if there is anything better than having that one person know you better than yourself.”

 

Harry arms reach for Zayn and they cling on to each other, uncaring of the growing audience around them.

 

“I love you,” Harry says clearly, words enunciated even if they sound a little shaky from unchecked emotions. “I love you so much, I was gonna wait to say it. Didn’t want to jinx it, don’t want me saying it to ruin everything like it always does. But I just  _can’t_. Can’t not tell you any longer.”

 

Zayn grips him that much tighter and nearly sobs. “Don’t care. Happy that you said it ‘cause I love you too. So fucking much, it’s scary. I just wanna have you in my life forever.”

 

“Always. Don’t leave me. Not like the rest.”

 

“Never. Always gonna be here. Holding on so tight sometimes you’ll probably hate me for being so clingy.”

 

Harry huffs out a watery chuckle and pulls Zayn into a deep kiss. They slot perfectly against each other,  _into_ each other. He rakes his fingers through Zayn’s hair and Zayn doesn’t protest even the slightest that his perfectly gelled hair is getting messed up because -

 

Because it’s  _Harry_  and nothing else quite ever matters.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr~](http://www.zouislights.tumblr.com/)


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